UNIVERSITY  OF  NORTH  CAROLINA 


mm 


■ 
■ 

a 

a 
a 

s 

■ 

a 


BOOK  CARD 

Please  keep  this  card  in 
book  pocket 


.Hm!.v,!!,s,ty  of  n  c-  at  chapel  hill 

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 

10000680256 


BM  1 


fits  SI 


f  5? 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA 
AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 
DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 
SOCIETIES 


PS  1702 

.C5 

1920 


■  ,w,\/frqity  OF  N.C  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

HHUHT 

10000680256 


This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  library. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


DATE 
DUE 


RET. 


map  rH^eafl 


woya  j 


 y 


■  ...  V 


BY  JOHN  FOX,  JR. 


ERSKINE  DALE— PIONEER 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  HILLS 

THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  LONESOME  PINE 

THE   LITTLE    SHEPHERD    OF  KINGDOM 
COME 

CRITTENDEN.   A  Kentucky  Story  of  Love  and 
War 

THE  KENTUCKI AN S  AND    A    KNIGHT  OF 
THE  CUMBERLAND 

A  MOUNTAIN  EUROPA  AND  A  CUMBER- 
LAND VENDETTA 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME,  HELL-FER- 
SARTAIN  AND  IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

BLUE  GRASS  AND  RHODODENDRON 
Outdoor  Life  in  Kentucky 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 
ON  LONESOME 

"  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  " 

IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 


.Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2014 


https://archive.org/details/christmaseveonloOOfoxj_0 


Buck  saw  the  shadowed  gesture  of  an  arm,  and  cocked  his  pistol. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE 
ON  LONESOME 

'  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  ' 

TN  HAPPY  VATJ/FW 

BY 

JOHN  FOX,  JR. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 

F.  C.  YOHN,  A.  I.  KELLER 
W.  A.  ROGERS  and  H.  C.  RANSOM 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  ::::::::::::  1920 

Copyright,  1901,  1904,  1909,  1916,  1917, 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Copyright,  1899,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 


CONTENTS 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME  AND 

PAGE 

OTHER  STORIES 

CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME      ...  3 

THE  ARMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN    ...  10 

THE  PARDON  OF  BECKY  DAY    ....  46 

A  CRISIS  FOR  THE  GUARD      ....  58 

CHRISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN     ...  76 


"  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  " 

ON  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  CREEK    .      .     .  99 

THROUGH  THE  GAP   102 

A  TRICK  O'  TRADE   106 

GRAYSON'S  BABY   109 

<r     COURTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN   116 

$ 

^     THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND     ....  122 

!2     THE  SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE       ...  125 


CONTENTS 

PAGB 

PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME      ...  129 

THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM  SHIVERS       .  134 

A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON      ....  137 

IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 

THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR  ...  155 

THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER    .      .      .  170 

THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL  .....  179 

THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY  ...  188 

HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT     ....  209 

THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER   214 

THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY     .      .      .  222 

THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY  ...  231 

THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL  .  257 

THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON    .      .  265 


vi 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Buck  saw  the  shadowed  gesture  of  an  arm, 

and  cocked  his  pistol  Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Captain  Wells  descended  with  no  little  majesty 


and  "  biffed  "  him  20 

"Speak  up,  nigger!"  40 

Satan  would  drop  the  coin  and  get  a  ball  for  him- 
self  78 

"You  got  him  down  !"  she  cried.    "Jump  on  him 

an'  stomp  him  !"   168 

"You  stay  hyeh  with  the  baby/5  he  said  quietly, 

"an'  Fll  take  yo'  meal  home"  186 


"Let  'em  loose!"  he  yelled.    "Git  at  it,  boys! 

Go  fer  him,  Ham— -whoop-ee-ee !"      .    .    .  204 

"O  Lawd  .  .  .  hyeh's  another  who  meddles  with 

thy  servant  and  profanes  thy  day"    .    .    .  262 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 
AND  OTHER  STORIES 


TO 

THOMAS  NELSON  J>AGE 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 


IT  was  Christmas  Eve  on  Lonesome.  But 
nobody  on  Lonesome  knew  that  it  was 
Christmas  Eve,  although  a  child  of  the  outer 
world  could  have  guessed  it,  even  out  in  those 
wilds  where  Lonesome  slipped  from  one  lone 
log  cabin  high  up  the  steeps,  down  through  a 
stretch  of  jungled  darkness  to  another  lone  cabin 
at  the  mouth  of  the  stream. 

There  was  the  holy  hush  in  the  gray  twilight 
that  comes  only  on  Christmas  Eve.  There  were 
the  big  flakes  of  snow  that  fell  as  they  never  fall 
except  on  Christmas  Eve.  There  was  a  snowy 
man  on  horseback  in  a  big  coat,  and  with  saddle- 
pockets  that  might  have  been  bursting  with  toys 
for  children  in  the  little  cabin  at  the  head  of  the 
stream. 

But  not  even  he  knew  that  it  was  Christmas 
Eve.  He  was  thinking  of  Christmas  Eve,  but 
it  was  of  the  Christmas  Eve  of  the  year  before, 
when  he  sat  in  prison  with  a  hundred  other  men 
in  stripes,  and  listened  to  the  chaplain  talk  of 
peace  and  good  will  to  all  men  upon  earth,  when 
3 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 


he  had  forgotten  all  men  upon  earth  but  one* 
and  had  only  hatred  in  his  heart  for  him. 

"  Vengeance  is  mine !  saith  the  Lord." 

That  was  what  the  chaplain  had  thundered 
at  him.  And  then,  as  now,  he  thought  of  the 
enemy  who  had  betrayed  him  to  the  law,  and 
had  sworn  away  his  liberty,  and  had  robbed  him 
of  everything  in  life  except  a  fierce  longing  for 
the  day  when  he  could  strike  back  and  strike  to 
kill.  And  then,  while  he  looked  back  hard  into 
the  chaplain's  eyes,  and  now,  while  he  splashed 
through  the  yellow  mud  thinking  of  that  Christ- 
mas Eve,  Buck  shook  his  head;  and  then,  as 
now,  his  sullen  heart  answered: 

"  Mine!" 

The  big  flakes  drifted  to  crotch  and  twig  and 
limb.  They  gathered  on  the  brim  of  Buck's 
slouch  hat,  filled  out  the  wrinkles  in  his  big  coat, 
whitened  his  hair  and  his  long  mustache,  and 
sifted  into  the  yellow,  twisting  path  that  guided 
his  horse's  feet. 

High  above  he  could  see  through  the  whirl- 
ing snow  now  and  then  the  gleam  of  a  red  star. 
He  knew  it  was  the  light  from  his  enemy's  win- 
dow; but  somehow  the  chaplain's  voice  kept 
ringing  in  his  ears,  and  every  time  he  saw  the 
light  he  couldn't  help  thinking  of  the  story  of 
the  Star  that  the  chaplain  told  that  Christmas 
Eve,  and  he  dropped  his  eyes  by  and  by,  so  as 
4 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 


not  to  see  it  again,  and  rode  on  until  the  light 
shone  in  his  face. 

Then  he  led  his  horse  up  a  little  ravine  and 
hitched  it  among  the  snowy  holly  and  rhodo- 
dendrons, and  slipped  toward  the  light.  There 
was  a  dog  somewhere,  of  course;  and  like  a 
thief  he  climbed  over  the  low  rail-fence  and 
stole  through  the  tall  snow-wet  grass  until  he 
leaned  against  an  apple-tree  with  the  sill  of  the 
window  two  feet  above  the  level  of  his  eyes. 

Reaching  above  him,  he  caught  a  stout  limb 
and  dragged  himself  up  to  a  crotch  of  the  tree. 
A  mass  of  snow  slipped  softly  to  the  earth.  The 
branch  creaked  above  the  light  wind;  around 
the  corner  of  the  house  a  dog  growled  and  he 
sat  still. 

He  had  waited  three  long  years  and  he  had 
ridden  two  hard  nights  and  lain  out  two  cold 
days  in  the  woods  for  this. 

And  presently  he  reached  out  very  carefully, 
and  noiselessly  broke  leaf  and  branch  and  twig 
until  a  passage  was  cleared  for  his  eye  and  for 
the  point  of  the  pistol  that  was  gripped  in  his 
right  hand. 

A  woman  was  just  disappearing  through  the 
kitchen  door,  and  he  peered  cautiously  and  saw 
nothing  but  darting  shadows.  From  one  cor- 
ner a  shadow  loomed  suddenly  out  in  human 
shape.    Buck  saw  the  shadowed  gesture  of  an 

5 


CHEISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 


arm,  and  he  cocked  his  pistol.  That  shadow 
was  his  man,  and  in  a  moment  he  would  be  in  a 
chair  in  the  chimney  corner  to  smoke  his  pipe, 
maybe — his  last  pipe. 

Buck  smiled — pure  hatred  made  him  smile — 
but  it  was  mean,  a  mean  and  sorry  thing  to  shoot 
this  man  in  the  back,  dog  though  he  was;  and 
now  that  the  moment  had  come  a  wave  of  sicken- 
ing shame  ran  through  Buck.  No  one  of  his 
name  had  ever  done  that  before;  but  this  man 
and  his  people  had,  and  with  their  own  lips  they 
had  framed  palliation  for  him.  What  was  fair 
for  one  was  fair  for  the  other  they  always  said. 
A  poor  man  couldn't  fight  money  in  the  courts ; 
and  so  they  had  shot  from  the  brush,  and  that 
was  why  they  were  rich  now  and  Buck  was  poor 
— why  his  enemy  was  safe  at  home,  and  he  was 
out  here,  homeless,  in  the  apple-tree. 

Buck  thought  of  all  this,  but  it  was  no  use. 
The  shadow  slouched  suddenly  and  disap- 
peared; and  Buck  was  glad.  With  a  gritting 
oath  between  his  chattering  teeth  he  pulled  his 
pistol  in  and  thrust  one  leg  down  to  swing  from 
the  tree — he  would  meet  him  face  to  face  next 
day  and  kill  him  like  a  man — and  there  he  hung 
as  rigid  as  though  the  cold  had  suddenly  turned 
him,  blood,  bones,  and  marrow,  into  ice. 

The  door  had  opened,  and  full  in  the  firelight 
stood  the  girl  who  he  had  heard  was  dead.  He 

6 


CHEISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 


knew  now  how  and  why  that  word  was  sent  him. 
And  now  she  who  had  been  his  sweetheart  stood 
before  him — the  wife  of  the  man  he  meant  to 
kill. 

Her  lips  moved — he  thought  he  could  tell 
what  she  said:  "  Git  up,  Jim,  git  up!  "  Then 
she  went  back. 

A  flame  flared  up  within  him  now  that  must 
have  come  straight  from  the  devil's  forge. 
Again  the  shadows  played  over  the  ceiling.  His 
teeth  grated  as  he  cocked  his  pistol,  and  pointed 
it  down  the  beam  of  light  that  shot  into  the 
heart  of  the  apple-tree,  and  waited. 

The  shadow  of  a  head  shot  along  the  rafters 
and  over  the  fireplace.  It  was  a  madman 
clutching  the  butt  of  the  pistol  now,  and  as  his 
eye  caught  the  glinting  sight  and  his  heart 
thumped,  there  stepped  into  the  square  light  of 
the  window — -a  child! 

It  was  a  boy  with  yellow  tumbled  hair,  and 
he  had  a  puppy  in  his  arms.  In  front  of  the  fire 
the  little  fellow  dropped  the  dog,  and  they  began 
to  play. 

44  Yap!  yap!  yap!" 

Buck  could  hear  the  shrill  barking  of  the  fat 
little  dog,  and  the  joyous  shrieks  of  the  child  as 
he  made  his  playfellow  chase  his  tail  round  and 
round  or  tumbled  him  head  over  heels  on  the 
floor.    It  was  the  first  child  Buck  had  seen  for 

7 


CHEISTMAS  EVE  ON"  LONESOME 


three  years;  it  was  his  child  and  hers;  and,  in 
the  apple-tree,  Buck  watched  fixedly. 

They  were  down  on  the  floor  now,  rolling 
over  and  over  together;  and  he  watched  them 
,  until  the  child  grew  tired  and  turned  his  face  to 
the  fire  and  lay  still — looking  into  it.  Buck 
could  see  his  eyes  close  presently,  and  then  the 
puppy  crept  closer,  put  his  head  on  his  play- 
mate's chest,  and  the  two  lay  thus  asleep. 

And  still  Buck  looked — his  clasp  loosening  on 
his  pistol  and  his  lips  loosening  under  his  stiff 
mustache — and  kept  looking  until  the  door 
opened  again  and  the  woman  crossed  the  floor. 
A  flood  of  light  flashed  suddenly  on  the  snow, 
barely  touching  the  snow-hung  tips  of  the  apple- 
tree,  and  he  saw  her  in  the  doorway — saw  her 
look  anxiously  into  the  darkness — look  and  lis- 
ten a  long  while. 

Buck  dropped  noiselessly  to  the  snow  when 
she  closed  the  door.  He  wondered  what  they 
would  think  when  they  saw  his  tracks  in  the 
snow  next  morning;  and  then  he  realized  that 
they  would  be  covered  before  morning. 

As  he  started  up  the  ravine  where  his  horse 
was  he  heard  the  clink  of  metal  down  the  road 
and  the  splash  of  a  horse's  hoofs  in  the  soft  mud, 
and  he  sank  down  behind  a  holly-bush. 

Again  the  light  from  the  cabin  flashed  out 
on  the  snow. 

8 


CHEISTMAS  EVE  ON  LONESOME 


"That  you,  Jim?" 
"  Yep !  " 

And  then  the  child's  voice :  "  Has  oo  dot 
thum  tandy?  " 
"  Yep!" 

The  cheery  answer  rang  out  almost  at  Buck's 
ear,  and  Jim  passed  death  waiting  for  him  be- 
hind the  bush  which  his  left  foot  brushed,  shak- 
ing the  snow  from  the  red  berries  down  on  the 
crouching  figure  beneath. 

Once  only,  far  down  the  dark  jungled  wayv 
with  the  underlying  streak  of  yellow  that  was 
leading  him  whither,  God  only  knew — once  only 
Buck  looked  back.  There  was  the  red  light 
gleaming  faintly  through  the  moonlit  flakes  of 
snow.  Once  more  he  thought  of  the  Star,  and 
once  more  the  chaplain's  voice  came  back  to 
him. 

"  Mine!  "  saith  the  Lord. 

Just  how,  Buck  could  not  see  with  himself  in 
the  snow  and  him  back  there  for  life  with  her 
and  the  child,  but  some  strange  impulse  made 
him  bare  his  head. 

"  Yourn,"  said  Buck  grimly. 

But  nobody  on  Lonesome — not  even  Buck — 
knew  that  it  was  Christmas  Eve. 


9 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


I 

THE  dreaded  message  had  come.  The  lank 
messenger,  who  had  brought  it  from  over 
Black  Mountain,  dropped  into  a  chair  by  the 
stove  and  sank  his  teeth  into  a  great  hunk  of 
yellow  cheese.  "  Flitter  Bill  "  Richmond  wad- 
dled from  behind  his  counter,  and  out  on  the  lit- 
tle platform  in  front  of  his  cross-roads  store. 
Out  there  was  a  group  of  earth-stained  country- 
men, lounging  against  the  rickety  fence  or 
swinging  on  it,  their  heels  clear  of  the  ground, 
all  whittling,  chewing,  and  talking  the  matter 
over.  All  looked  up  at  Bill,  and  he  looked 
down  at  them,  running  his  eye  keenly  from  one 
to  another  until  he  came  to  one  powerful  young 
fellow  loosely  bent  over  a  wagon-tongue.  Even 
on  him,  Bill's  eyes  stayed  but  a  moment,  and 
then  were  lifted  higher  in  anxious  thought. 

The  message  had  come  at  last,  and  the  man 
who  brought  it  had  heard  it  fall  from  Black 
Tom's  own  lips.    The  "  wild  Jay-Hawkers  of 
Kaintuck  "  were  coming  over  into  Virginia  to 
10 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


get  Flitter  Bill's  store,  for  they  were  mountain 
Unionists  and  Bill  was  a  valley  rebel  and  lawful 
prey.  It  was  past  belief.  So  long  had  he 
prospered,  and  so  well,  that  Bill  had  come  to 
feel  that  he  sat  safe  in  the  hollow  of  God's  hand. 
But  he  now  must  have  protection — and  at  once 
— from  the  hand  of  man. 

Roaring  Fork  sang  lustily  through  the  rho- 
dodendrons. To  the  north  yawned  "  the  Gap  " 
through  the  Cumberland  Mountains.  "  Calla- 
han's Nose,"  a  huge  gray  rock,  showed  plain  in 
the  clear  air,  high  above  the  young  foliage,  and 
under  it,  and  on  up  the  rocky  chasm,  flashed 
Flitter  Bill's  keen  mind,  reaching  out  for  help. 

Now,  from  Virginia  to  Alabama  the  South- 
ern mountaineer  was  a  Yankee,  because  the  na- 
tional spirit  of  1776,  getting  fresh  impetus  in 
18 12  and  new  life  from  the  Mexican  War,  had 
never  died  out  in  the  hills.  Most  likely  it 
would  never  have  died  out,  anyway;  for,  the 
world  over,  any  seed  of  charactei ,  individual  or 
national,  that  is  once  dropped  between  lofty 
summits  brings  forth  its  kind,  with  deathless 
tenacity,  year  after  year.  Only,  in  the  Ken- 
tucky mountains,  there  were  more  slaveholders 
than  elsewhere  in  the  mountains  in  the  South. 
These,  naturally,  fought  for  their  slaves,  and 
the  division  thus  made  the  war  personal  and  ter- 
rible between  the  slaveholders  who  dared  to  stay 
11 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 

home,  and  the  Union,  "  Home  Guards  "  who 
organized  to  drive  them  away.    In  Bill's  little 
Virginia  valley,  of  course,  most  of  the  sturdy 
farmers  had  shouldered  Confederate  muskets 
find  gone  to  the  war.    Those  who  had  stayed  at 
home  were,  like  Bill,  Confederate  in  sympathy, 
but  they  lived  in  safety  down  the  valley,  while 
Bill  traded  and  fattened  just  opposite  the  Gap, 
through  which  a  wild  road  ran  over  into  the 
wild  Kentucky  hills.    Therein  Bill's  danger  lay; 
for,  just  at  this  time,  the  Harlan  Home  Guard 
under  Black  Tom,  having  cleared  those  hills, 
were  making  ready,  like  the  Pict  and  Scot  of 
olden  days,  to  descend  on  the  Virginia  valley 
and  smite  the  lowland  rebels  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Gap.    Of  the  "  stay-at-homes,"  and  the  de- 
serters roundabout,  there  were  many,  very  many, 
who  would  "  stand  in  "  with  any  man  who 
would  keep  their  bellies  full,  but  they  were  well- 
nigh  worthless  even  with  a  leader,  and,  without 
a  leader,  of  no  good  at  all.    Flitter  Bill  must 
find  a  leader  for  them,  and  anywhere  than  in  his 
own  fat  self,  for  a  leader  of  men  Bill  was  not 
born  to  be,  nor  could  he  see  a  leader  among  the 
men  before  him.    And  so,  standing  there  one 
early  morning  in  the  spring  of  1865,  with  up- 
lifted gaze,  it  was  no  surprise  to  him — the  coin- 
cidence, indeed,  became  at  once  one  of  the  arti- 
cles of  perfect  faith  in  his  own  star— that  he 
12 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


should  see  afar  off,  a  black  slouch  hat  and  a  jog- 
ging gray  horse  rise  above  a  little  knoll  that  was 
in  line  with  the  mouth  of  the  Gap.  At  once  he 
crossed  his  hands  over  his  chubby  stomach  with 
a  pious  sigh,  and  at  once  a  plan  of  action  began 
to  whirl  in  his  little  round  head.  Before  man 
and  beast  were  in  full  view  the  work  was  done, 
the  hands  were  unclasped,  and  Flitter  Bill,  with 
a  chuckle,  had  slowly  risen,  and  was  waddling 
back  to  his  desk  in  the  store. 

It  was  a  pompous  old  buck  who  was  bearing 
down  on  the  old  gray  horse,  and  under  the 
slouch  hat  with  its  flapping  brim — one  Mayhall 
Wells,  by  name.  There  were  but  few  strands 
of  gray  in  his  thick  blue-black  hair,  though  his 
years  were  rounding  half  a  century,  and  he  sat 
the  old  nag  with  erect  dignity  and  perfect  ease. 
His  bearded  mouth  showed  vanity  immeasur- 
able, and  suggested  a  strength  of  will  that  his 
eyes — the  real  seat  of  power — denied,  for,  while 
shrewd  and  keen,  they  were  unsteady.  In  real- 
ity, he  was  a  great  coward,  though  strong  as  an 
ox,  and  whipping  with  ease  every  man  who 
could  force  him  into  a  fight.  So  that,  in  the 
whole  man,  a  sensitive  observer  would  have  felt 
a  peculiar  pathos,  as  though  nature  had  given 
him  a  desire  to  be,  and  no  power  to  become,  and 
had  then  sent  him  on  his  zigzag  way,  never  *o 
dream  wherein  his  trouble  lay. 

13 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


"  Mornin',  genthmen !  " 

"  Mornin',  Mayhall!  " 

All  nodded  and  spoke  except  Hence  Sturglll 
on  the  wagon-tongue,  who  stopped  whittling, 
and  merely  looked  at  the  big  man  with  narrow- 
ing eyes. 

Tallow  Dick,  a  yellow  slave,  appeared  at  the 
corner  of  the  store,  and  the  old  buck  beckoned 
him  to  come  and  hitch  his  horse.  Flitter  Bill 
had  reappeared  on  the  stoop  with  a  piece  of 
white  paper  in  his  hand.  The  lank  messenger 
sagged  in  the  doorway  behind  him,  ready  to 
start  for  home. 

"  Mornin'  Captain  Wells,"  said  Bill,  with 
great  respect.  Every  man  heard  the  title, 
stopped  his  tongue  and  his  knife-blade,  and 
raised  his  eyes;  a  few  smiled — Hence  Sturgill 
grinned.  Mayhall  stared,  and  Bill's  left  eye 
closed  and  opened  with  lightning  quickness  in  a 
most  portentous  wink.  Mayhall  straightened 
his  shoulders — seeing  the  game,  as  did  the  crowd 
at  once:  Flitter  Bill  was  impressing  that  mes- 
senger in  case  he  had  some  dangerous  card  up 
his  sleeve. 

"  Captain  Wells,"  Bill  repeated  significantly, 
"  I'm  sorry  to  say  yo'  new  uniform  has  not 
arrived  yet.  I  am  expecting  it  to-morrow." 
Mayhall  toed  the  line  with  soldierly  promptness. 

44  Well,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  suh — sorry  to 
14 


THE  AKMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


hear  it,  suh,"  he  said,  with  slow,  measured 
speech.  "  My  men  are  comin'  in  fast,  and  you 
can  hardly  realize  er — er  what  it  means  to  an 
old  soldier  er — er  not  to  have — er — "  And 
Mayhall's  answering  wink  was  portentous. 

44  My  friend  here  is  from  over  in  Kaintucky, 
and  the  Harlan  Home  Gyard  over  there,  he 
says,  is  a-making  some  threats." 

Mayhall  laughed. 

11  So  I  have  heerd — so  I  have  heerd."  He 
turned  to  the  messenger.  44  We  shall  be  ready 
fer  'em,  suh,  ready  fer  'em  with  a  thousand  men 
— one  thousand  men,  suh,  right  hyeh  in  the  Gap 
— right  hyeh  in  the  Gap.  Let  'em  come  on — let 
'em  come  on!  "  Mayhall  began  to  rub  his  hands 
together  as  though  the  conflict  were  close  at 
hand,  and  the  mountaineer  slapped  one  thigh 
heartily.  44  Good  for  you !  Give  'em  hell !  "  He 
was  about  to  slap  Mayhall  on  the  shoulder  and 
call  him  "  pardner,"  when  Flitter  Bill  coughed, 
and  Mayhall  lifted  his  chin. 

44  Captain  Wells?"  said  Bill. 

44  Captain  Wells,"  repeated  Mayhall  with  a 
stiff  salutation,  and  the  messenger  from  over 
Black  Mountain  fell  back  with  an  apologetic 
laugh.  A  few  minutes  later  both  Mayhall  and 
Flitter  Bill  saw  him  shaking  his  head,  as  he 
started  homeward  toward  the  Gap.  Bill  laughed 
silently,  but  Mayhall  had  grown  grave.  The 

x5 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


fun  was  over  and  he  beckoned  Bill  inside  the 
store. 

"  Misto  Richmond,"  he  said,  with  hesitancy 
and  an  entire  change  of  tone  and  manner,  "  I  am 
afeerd  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  able  to  pay  you  that 
little  amount  I  owe  you,  but  if  you  can  give  me  a 
little  mo'  time  " 

"  Captain  Wells,"  interrupted  Bill  slowly, 
and  again  Mayhall  stared  hard  at  him,  "  as  be- 
twixt friends,  as  have  been  pussonal  friends  fer 
nigh  onto  twenty  year,  I  hope  you  won't  men- 
tion that  little  matter  to  me  ag'in — until  I  men- 
tions it  to  you." 

"  But,  Misto  Richmond,  Hence  Sturgill  out 
thar  says  as  how  he  heerd  you  say  that  if  I  didn't 
pay  " 

"  Captain  Wells,"  interrupted  Bill  again  and 
again  Mayhall  stared  hard — it  was  strange  that 
Bill  could  have  formed  the  habit  of  calling  him 
"  Captain  "  in  so  short  a  time — "  yestiddy  is  not 
to-day,  is  it  ?  And  to-day  is  not  to-morrow  ?  I 
axe  you — have  I  said  one  word  about  that  little 
matter  to-day?  Well,  borrow  not  from  yes- 
tiddy nor  to-morrow,  to  make  trouble  fer  to- 
day. There  is  other  things  fer  to-day,  Captain 
Wells." 

Mayhall  turned  here. 

"  Misto  Richmond,"  he  said,  with  great  earn- 
estness, "  you  may  not  know  it,  but  three  times 
16 


THE  AEMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN" 


since  thet  long-legged  jay-hawker's  been  gone 
you  hev  plainly — and  if  my  ears  do  not  deceive 
me,  an'  they  never  hev — you  have  plainly  called 
me  i  Captain  Wells.'  I  knowed  yo'  little  trick 
whilst  he  was  hyeh,  fer  I  knowed  whut  the  feller 
had  come  to  tell  ye;  but  since  he's  been  gone, 
three  times,  Misto  Richmond  " 

"  Yes,"  drawled  Bill,  with  an  unction  that 
was  strangely  sweet  to  Mayhall's  wondering 
ears,  "  an'  I  do  it  ag'in,  Captain  Wells." 

"  An'  may  I  axe  you,"  said  Mayhall,  ruffling 
a  little,  "  may  I  axe  you — why  you  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Bill,  and  he  handed  over 
the  paper  that  he  held  in  his  hand. 

Mayhall  took  the  paper  and  looked  it  up  and 
down  helplessly — Flitter  Bill  slyly  watching 
him. 

Mayhall  handed  it  back.  "  If  you  please, 
Misto  Richmond — I  left  my  specs  at  home." 
Without  a  smile,  Bill  began.  It  was  an  order 
from  the  commandant  at  Cumberland  Gap, 
sixty  miles  farther  down  Powell's  Valley,  au- 
thorizing Mayhall  Wells  to  form  a  company  to 
guard  the  Gap  and  to  protect  the  property  of 
Confederate  citizens  in  the  valley;  and  a  com- 
mission of  captaincy  in  the  said  company  for  the 
said  Mayhall  Wells.  Mayhall's  mouth  wid- 
ened to  the  full  stretch  of  his  lean  jaws,  and, 
when  Bill  was  through  reading,  he  silently 
17 


THE  AEMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN" 


reached  for  the  paper  and  looked  it  up  and  down 
and  over  and  over,  muttering : 

"  Well — well — well !  "  And  then  he  pointed 
silently  to  the  name  that  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  paper. 

Bill  spelled  out  the  name : 

"  Jefferson  Davis"  and  MayhalPs  big  fingers 
trembled  as  he  pulled  them  away,  as  though 
to  avoid  further  desecration  of  that  sacred 
name. 

Then  he  rose,  and  a  magical  transformation 
began  that  can  be  likened — I  speak  with  rever- 
ence— to  the  turning  of  water  into  wine.  Cap- 
tain Mayhall  Wells  raised  his  head,  set  his  chin 
well  in,  and  kept  it  there.  He  straightened  his 
shoulders,  and  kept  them  straight.  He  paced 
the  floor  with  a  tread  that  was  martial,  and  once 
he  stopped  before  the  door  with  his  right  hand 
thrust  under  his  breast-pocket,  and  with  wrin- 
kling brow  studied  the  hills.  It  was  a  new  man 
— with  the  water  in  his  blood  changed  to  wine — 
who  turned  suddenly  on  Flitter  Bill  Richmond : 

"  I  can  collect  a  vehy  large  force  in  a  vehy  few 
days."  Flitter  Bill  knew  that — that  he  could 
get  together  every  loafer  between  the  county-seat 
of  Wise  and  the  county-seat  of  Lee — but  he  only 
said  encouragingly : 

"Good!" 

"  An'  we  air  to  pertect  the  property — /  am  to 
18 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


pertect  the  property  of  the  Confederate  citizens 
of  the  valley — that  means  you,  Misto  Rich- 
mond, and  this  store." 
Bill  nodded. 

Mayhall  coughed  slightly.  "  There  is  one 
thing  in  the  way,  I  opine.  Whar — I  axe  you — 
air  we  to  git  somethin'  to  eat  fer  my  com- 
mand? "    Bill  had  anticipated  this. 

"  I'll  take  keer  o'  that." 

Captain  Wells  rubbed  his  hands. 

"  Of  co'se,  of  co'se — you  are  a  soldier  and  a 
patriot — you  can  afford  to  feed  'em  as  a  slight 
return  fer  the  pertection  I  shall  give  you  and 
yourn." 

"  Certainly,"  agreed  Bill  dryly,  and  with  a 
prophetic  stir  of  uneasiness. 

"  Vehy — vehy  well.  I  shall  begin  now,  Misto 
Richmond."  And,  to  Flitter  Bill's  wonder,  the 
captain  stalked  out  to  the  stoop,  announced  his 
purpose  with  the  voice  of  an  auctioneer,  and 
called  for  volunteers  then  and  there.  There  was 
dead  silence  for  a  moment.  Then  there  was  a 
smile  here,  a  chuckle  there,  an  incredulous  laugh, 
and  Hence  Sturgill,  "  bully  of  the  Pocket,"  rose 
from  the  wagon-tongue,  closed  his  knife,  came 
slowly  forward,  and  cackled  his  scorn  straight 
up  into  the  teeth  of  Captain  Mayhall  Wells. 
The  captain  looked  down  and  began  to  shed  his 
mit. 


19 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


"  I  take  It,  Hence  Sturgill,  that  you  air  laugh- 
in'  at  me?  " 

"  I  am  a-laughin'  at  you,  Mayhall  Wells," 
he  said,  contemptuously,  but  he  was  sur- 
prised at  the  look  on  the  good-natured  giant's 
face. 

"  Captain  Mayhall  Wells,  ef  you  please." 

"  Plain  ole  Mayhall  Wells,"  said  Hence,  and 
Captain  Wells  descended  with  no  little  majesty 
and  "  biffed  "  him. 

The  delighted  crowd  rose  to  its  feet  and  gath- 
ered around.  Tallow  Dick  came  running  from 
the  barn.  It  was  biff — biff,  and  biff  again,  but 
not  nip  and  tuck  for  long.  Captain  Mayhall 
closed  in.  Hence  Sturgill  struck  the  earth  like 
a  Homeric  pine,  and  the  captain's  mighty  arm 
played  above  him  and  fell,  resounding.  In 
three  minutes  Hence,  to  the  amazement  of  the 
crowd,  roared: 

"  'Nough!" 

But  Mayhall  breathed  hard  and  said  quietly : 
"Captain  Wells!" 

Hence  shouted,  "Plain  ole — 99  But  the  cap- 
tain's huge  fist  was  poised  in  the  air  over  his  face. 

"  Captain  Wells,"  he  growled,  and  the  cap- 
tain rose  and  calmly  put  on  his  coat,  while  the 
crowd  looked  respectful,  and  Hence  Sturgill 
staggered  to  one  side,  as  though  beaten  in  spirit, 
strength,  and  wits  as.  well.  The  captain  beck- 
20 


Captain  Wells  descended  with  no  little  majesty  and  "  biffed"  him. 


THE  AEMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN" 


oned  Flitter  Bill  inside  the  store.  His  manner 
had  a  distinct  savor  of  patronage. 

"  Misto  Richmond,"  he  said,  "  I  make  you— 
I  appoint  you,  by  the  authority  of  Jefferson 
Davis  and  the  Confederate  States  of  Ameriky, 
as  commissary-gineral  of  the  Army  of  the  Cal- 
lahan." 

"  As  what?"  Bill's  eyes  blinked  at  the  as- 
tounding dignity  of  his  commission. 

14  Gineral  Richmond,  I  shall  not  repeat  them 
words."  And  he  didn't,  but  rose  and  made  his 
way  toward  his  old  gray  mare.  Tallow  Dick 
held  his  bridle. 

44  Dick,"  he  said  jocosely,  44  goin'  to  run  away 
ag'in?"  The  negro  almost  paled,  and  then, 
with  a  look  at  a  blacksnake  whip  that  hung  on 
the  barn  door,  grinned. 

44  No,  suh — no,  suh — 'deed  I  ain't,  suh — no 
mo  . 

Mounted,  the  captain  dropped  a  three-cent 
silver  piece  in  the  startled  negro's  hand.  Then 
he  vouchsafed  the  wondering  Flitter  Bill  and  the 
gaping  crowd  a  military  salute  and  started  for 
the  yawning  mouth  of  the  Gap — riding  with 
shoulders  squared  and  chin  well  in — riding  as 
should  ride  the  commander  of  the  Army  of  the 
Callahan. 

Flitter  Bill  dropped  his  blinking  eyes  to  the 
paper  in  his  hand  that  bore  the  commission  of 


THE  AEMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN 


Jefferson  Davis  and  the  Confederate  States  of 
America  to  Mayhall  Wells  of  Callahan,  and 
went  back  into  his  store.  He  looked  at  it  i  long 
time  and  then  he  laughed,  but  without  much 
mirth. 


II 


GRASS  had  little  chance  to  grow  for  three 
weeks  thereafter  under  the  cowhide  boots 
of  Captain  Mayhall  Wells.  When  the  twen- 
tieth morning  came  over  the  hills,  the  mist 
parted  over  the  Stars  and  Bars  floating  from 
the  top  of  a  tall  poplar  up  through  the  Gap  and 
flaunting  brave  defiance  to  Black  Tom,  his  Har- 
lan Home  Guard,  and  all  other  jay-hawking 
Unionists  of  the  Kentucky  hills.  It  parted  over 
the  Army  of  the  Callahan  asleep  on  its  arms  in 
the  mouth  of  the  chasm,  over  Flitter  Bill  sitting, 
sullen  and  dejected,  on  the  stoop  of  his  store; 
and  over  Tallow  Dick  stealing  corn  bread  from 
the  kitchen  tc  make  ready  for  flight  that  night 
through  the  Gap,  the  mountains,  and  to  the  yel- 
low river  that  was  the  Mecca  of  the  runaway 
slave. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Gap  a  ragged  private 
stood  before  a  ragged  tent,  raised  a  long  dinner 
horn  to  his  lips,  and  a  mighty  blast  rang  through 
the  hills,  reveille!  And  out  poured  the  Army 
of  the  Callahan  from  shack,  rock-cave,  and  cov- 
erts of  sticks  and  leaves,  with  squirrel  rifles, 


THE  ARMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN 


Revolutionary  muskets,  shotguns,  clasp-knives, 
and  horse  pistols  for  the  duties  of  the  day 
under  Lieutenant  Skaggs,  tactician,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Boggs,  quondam  terror  of  Roaring 
Fork. 

That  blast  rang  down  the  valley  into  Flitter 
Bill's  ears  and  startled  him  into  action.  It 
brought  Tallow  Dick's  head  out  of  the  barn 
door  and  made  him  grin. 

"  Dick!  "  Flitter  Bill's  call  was  sharp  and 
angry. 

"  Yes,  suh!  " 

"  Go  tell  ole  Mayhall  Wells  that  I  ain't  goin' 
to  send  him  nary  another  pound  o'  bacon  an' 

nary  another  tin  cup  o'  meal — no,  by   ,  I 

ain't." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  negro  stood  before  the 
ragged  tent  of  the  commander  of  the  Army  of 
the  Callahan. 

"  Marse  Bill  say  he  ain't  gwine  to  sen'  you 
no  mo'  rations — no  mo'." 

"  What! " 

Tallow  Dick  repeated  his  message  and  the 
captain  scowled — mutiny ! 

"  Fetch  my  hoss!  "  he  thundered. 

Very  naturally  and  very  swiftly  had  the  trou- 
ble come,  for  straight  after  the  captain's  fight 
with  Hence  Sturgill  there  had  been  a  mighty 
rally  to  the  standard  of  Mayhall  Wells.  From 
24 


THE  AKMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


Pigeon's  Creek  the  loafers  came — from  Roaring 
Fork,  Cracker's  Neck,  from  the  Pocket  down 
the  valley,  and  from  Turkey  Cove.  Recruits 
came  so  fast,  and  to  such  proportions  grew  the 
1  Army  of  the  Callahan,  that  Flitter  Bill  shrewdly 
suggested  at  once  that  Captain  Wells  divide  it 
into  three  companies  and  put  one  up  Pigeon's 
Creek  under  Lieutenant  Jim  Skaggs  and  one  on 
Callahan  under  Lieutenant  Tom  Boggs,  while 
the  captain,  with  a  third,  should  guard  the  mouth 
of  the  Gap.  Bill's  idea  was  to  share  with  those 
districts  the  honor  of  his  commissary-general- 
ship ;  but  Captain  Wells  crushed  the  plan  like  a 
dried  puffball. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  fine  sarcasm.  "  What 
will  them  Kanetuckians  do  then?  Don't  you 
know,  Gineral  Richmond?  Why,  I'll  tell  you 
what  they'll  do.  They'll  jest  swoop  down  on 
Lieutenant  Boggs  and  gobble  him  up.  Then 
they'll  swoop  down  on  Lieutenant  Skaggs  on 
Pigeon  and  gobble  him  up.  Then  they'll  swoop 
down  on  me  and  gobble  me  up.  No,  they  won't 
gobble  me  up,  but  they'll  come  damn  nigh  it. 
An'  what  kind  of  a  report  will  I  make  to  Jeff 
Davis,  Gineral  Richmond?  Captured  in  detail, 
suh?  No,  suh.  I'll  jest  keep  Lieutenant  Boggs 
and  Lieutenant  Skaggs  close  by  me,  and  we'll 
pitch  our  camp  right  here  in  the  Gap  whar  we 
can  pertect  the  property  of  Confederate  citizens 
?5 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


and  be  close  to  our  base  o'  supplies,  suh.  That's 
what  I'll  do!  " 

"  Gineral  Richmond  "  groaned,  and  when  in 
the  next  breath  the  mighty  captain  casually 
inquired  if  that  uniform  of  his  had  come  yet, 
Flitter  Bill's  fat  body  nearly  rolled  off  his 
chair. 

"  You  will  please  have  it  here  next  Monday," 
said  the  captain,  with  great  firmness.  "  It  is 
necessary  to  the  proper  discipline  of  my  troops." 
And  it  was  there  the  following  Monday — a  regi- 
mental coat,  gray  jeans  trousers,  and  a  forage 
cap  that  Bill  purchased  from  a  passing  Morgan 
raider.  Daily  orders  would  come  from  Captain 
Wells  to  General  Flitter  Bill  Richmond  to  send 
up  more  rations,  and  Bill  groaned  afresh  when 
a  man  from  Callahan  told  how  the  captain's 
family  was  sprucing  up  on  meal  and  flour  and 
bacon  from  the  captain's  camp.  Humiliation 
followed.  It  had  never  occurred  to  Captain 
Wells  that  being  a  captain  made  it  incongruous 
for  him  to  have  a  "  general  "  under  him,  until 
Lieutenant  Skaggs,  who  had  picked  up  a  manual 
of  tactics  somewhere,  cautiously  communicated 
his  discovery.  Captain  Wells  saw  the  point  at 
once.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do — to  re- 
duce General  Richmond  to  the  ranks — and  it 
was  done.  Technically,  thereafter,  the  general 
was  purveyor  for  the  Army  of  the  Callahan,  but 
26 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


to  the  captain  himself  he  was — gallingly  to  the 
purveyor — simple  Flitter  Bill. 

The  strange  thing  was  that,  contrary  to  his 
usual  shrewdness,  it  should  have  taken  Flitter 
Bill  so  long  to  see  that  the  difference  between 
having  his  store  robbed  by  the  Kentucky  jay- 
hawkers  and  looted  by  Captain  Wells  was  the 
difference  between  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee, 
but,  when  he  did  see,  he  forged  a  plan  of  relief 
at  once.  When  the  captain  sent  down  Lieuten- 
ant Boggs  for  a  supply  of  rations,  Bill  sent  the 
saltiest,  rankest  bacon  he  could  find,  with  a  mes- 
sage that  he  wanted  to  see  the  great  man.  As 
before,  when  Captain  Wells  rode  down  to  the 
store,  Bill  handed  out  a  piece  of  paper,  and,  as 
before,  the  captain  had  left  his  " specs"  at  home. 
The  paper  was  an  order  that,  whereas  the  dis- 
tinguished services  of  Captain  Wells  to  the  Con- 
federacy were  appreciated  by  Jefferson  Davis, 
the  said  Captain  Wells  was,  and  is,  hereby  em- 
powered to  duly,  and  in  accordance  with  the  tac- 
tics of  war,  impress  what  live-stock  he  shall  see 
fit  and  determine  fit  for  the  good  of  his  com- 
mand. The  news  was  joy  to  the  Army  of  the 
Callahan.  Before  it  had  gone  the  rounds  of  the 
camp  Lieutenant  Boggs  had  spied  a  fat  heifer 
browsing  on  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  ordered 
her  surrounded  and  driven  down.  Without  an- 
other word,  when  she  was  close  enough,  he 

27 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN" 


raised  his  gun  and  would  have  shot  her  dead  in 
her  tracks  had  he  not  been  arrested  by  a  yell  of 
command  and  horror  from  his  superior. 

"  Air  you  a-goin'  to  have  me  cashiered  and 
shot,  Lieutenant  Boggs,  fer  violatin'  the  tick- 
tacks  of  war?  "  roared  the  captain,  indignantly. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  Fve  got  to  impress  that 
heifer  accordin'  to  the  rules  an'  regulations?  Git 
roun'  that  heifer."  The  men  surrounded  her. 
"  Take  her  by  the  horns.  Now !  In  the  name 
of  Jefferson  Davis  and  the  Confederate  States 
of  Ameriky,  I  hereby  and  hereon  do  duly  im- 
press this  heifer  for  the  purposes  and  use  of  the 
Army  of  the  Callahan,  so  help  me  God !  Shoot 
her  down,  Bill  Boggs,  shoot  her  down!  " 

Now,  naturally,  the  soldiers  preferred  fresh 
meat,  and  they  got  it — impressing  cattle,  sheep, 
and  hogs,  geese,  chickens,  and  ducks,  vegetables 
— nothing  escaped  the  capacious  maw  of  the 
Army  of  the  Callahan.  It  was  a  beautiful  idea, 
and  the  success  of  it  pleased  Flitter  Bill  mightily, 
but  the  relief  did  not  last  long.  An  indignant 
murmur  rose  up  and  down  valley  and  creek  bot- 
tom against  the  outrages,  and  one  angry  old  far- 
mer took  a  pot-shot  at  Captain  Wells  with  a 
squirrel  rifle,  clipping  the  visor  of  his  forage 
cap;  and  from  that  day  the  captain  began  to  call 
with  immutable  regularity  again  on  Flitter  Bill 
for  bacon  and  meal.  That  morning  the  last 
28 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN" 


straw  fell  in  a  demand  for  a  wagon-load  of  ra- 
tions to  be  delivered  before  noon,  and,  worn  to 
the  edge  of  his  patience,  Bill  had  sent  a  reckless 
refusal.  And  now  he  was  waiting  on  the  stoop 
of  his  store,  looking  at  the  mouth  of  the  Gap 
and  waiting  for  it  to  give  out  into  the  valley  Cap- 
tain Wells  and  his  old  gray  mare.  And  at  last, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  the  captain  com- 
ing— coming  at  a  swift  gallop — and  Bill  steeled 
himself  for  the  onslaught  like  a  knight  in  a  joust 
against  a  charging  antagonist.  The  captain  sa- 
luted stiffly — pulling  up  sharply  and  making  no 
move  to  dismount. 

"  Purveyor,"  he  said,  "  Black  Tom  has  just 
sent  word  that  he's  a-comin'  over  hyeh  this  week 
— have  you  heerd  that,  purveyor?  "  Bill  was 
silent. 

"  Black  Tom  says  you  air  responsible  for  the 
Army  of  the  Callahan.  Have  you  heerd  that, 
purveyor?  "    Still  was  there  silence. 

"  He  says  he's  a-goin'  to  hang  me  to  that  pop- 
lar whar  floats  them  Stars  and  Bars  " — Captain 
Mayhall  Wells  chuckled — "  an'  he  says  he's 
a-goin'  to  hang  you  thar  fust,  though;  have  you 
heerd  that,  purveyor?  " 

The  captain  dropped  the  titular  address  now, 
and  threw  one  leg  over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

"  Flitter  Bill  Richmond,"  he  said,  with  great 
nonchalance,  "  I  axe  you — do  you  prefer  that  I 
29 


THE  AKMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN 


should  disband  the  Army  of  the  Callahan,  or  do 
you  not?  " 
"  No." 

The  captain  was  silent  a  full  minute,  and  his 
face  grew  stern.  "  Flitter  Bill  Richmond,  I 
had  no  idee  o'  disbandin'  the  Army  of  the  Calla- 
han, but  do  you  know  what  I  did  aim  to  do?  " 
Again  Bill  was  silent. 

"  Well,  suh,  Til  tell  you  whut  I  aim  to  do. 
If  you  don't  send  them  rations  I'll  have  you 
cashiered  for  mutiny,  an'  if  Black  Tom  don't 
hang  you  to  that  air  poplar,  I'll  hang  you  thar 

myself,  suh;  yes,  by  !  I  will.    Dick!  "  he 

called  sharply  to  the  slave.  "  Hitch  up  that  air 
wagon,  fill  hit  full  o'  bacon  and  meal,  and  drive 
it  up  thar  to  my  tent.  An'  be  mighty  damn 
quick  about  it,  or  I'll  hang  you,  too." 

The  negro  gave  a  swift  glance  to  his  master, 
and  Flitter  Bill  feebly  waved  acquiescence. 

"  Purveyor,  I  wish  you  good-day." 

Bill  gazed  after  the  great  captain  in  dazed 
wonder  (was  this  the  man  who  had  come  cring- 
ing to  him  only  a  few  short  weeks  ago?)  and 
groaned  aloud. 

But  for  lucky  or  unlucky  coincidence,  how 
could  the  prophet  ever  have  gained  name  and 
fame  on  earth? 

Captain  Wells  rode  back  to  camp  chuckling — 
30 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


chuckling  with  satisfaction  and  pride;  but  the 
chuckle  passed  when  he  caught  sight  of  his  tent. 
In  front  of  it  were  his  lieutenants  and  some  half 
a  dozen  privates,  all  plainly  in  great  agitation, 
and  in  the  midst  of  them  stood  the  lank  messen- 
ger who  had  brought  the  first  message  from 
Black  Tom,  delivering  another  from  the  same 
source.  Black  Tom  was  coming,  coming  sure, 
and  unless  that  flag,  that  "  Rebel  rag,"'  were 
hauled  down  under  twenty-four  hours,  Black 
Tom  would  come  over  and  pull  it  down,  and  to 
that  same  poplar  hang  "  Captain  Mayhall  an' 
his  whole  damn  army."  Black  Tom  might  do 
it  anyhow — just  for  fun. 

While  the  privates  listened  the  captain 
strutted  and  swore;  then  he  rested  his  hand  on 
his  hip  and  smiled  with  silent  sarcasm,  and  then 
swore  again — while  the  respectful  lieutenants 
and  the  awed  soldiery  of  the  Callahan  looked  on. 
Finally  he  spoke. 

"  Ah— when  did  Black  Tom  say  that?"  he 
inquired  casually. 

"  Yestiddy  mornin'.  He  said  he  was  goin'  to 
start  over  hyeh  early  this  mornin'."  The  cap- 
tain whirled. 

"  What?  Then  why  didn't  you  git  over  hyeh 
this  mornin'?  " 

"  Couldn't  git  across  the  river  last  night." 

"  Then  he's  a-comin'  to-day?  " 

31 


THE  ARMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAX 


"  I  reckon  Black  Tom'll  be  hyeh  in  about  two 
hours — mebbe  he  ain't  fer  away  now."  The 
captain  was  startled. 

"  Lieutenant  Skaggs,"  he  called,  sharply,  11  git 
yo'  men  out  thar  an'  draw  'em  up  in  two  rows !  " 

The  face  of  the  student  of  military  tactics 
looked  horrified.  The  captain  in  his  excitement 
had  relaxed  into  language  that  was  distinctly 
agricultural,  and,  catching  the  look  on  his  subor- 
dinate's face,  and  at  the  same  time  the  reason 
for  it,  he  roared,  indignantly: 

"  Air  you  afeer'd,  sir?  Git  yo'  men  out,  I 
said,  an'  march  'em  up  thar  in  front  of  the  Gap. 
Lieutenant  Boggs,  take  ten  men  an'  march  at 
double  quick  through  the  Gap,  an'  defend  that 
poplar  with  yo'  life's  blood.  If  you  air  over- 
whelmed by  superior  numbers,  fall  back,  suh, 
step  by  step,  until  you  air  re-enforced  by  Lieuten- 
ant Skaggs.  If  you  two  air  not  able  to  hold  the 
enemy  in  check,  you  may  count  on  me  an'  the 
Army  of  the  Callahan  to  grind  him — "  (How 
the  captain,  now  thoroughly  aroused  to  all  the 
fine  terms  of  war^  did  roll  that  technical  "  him  " 
under  his  tongue) — "  to  grind  him  to  pieces 
ag'in  them  towerin'  rocks,  and  plunge  him  in  the 
bilin'  waters  of  Roarin'  Fawk.  Forward,  suh 
— double  quick."  Lieutenant  Skaggs  touched 
his  cap.  Lieutenant  Boggs  looked  embarrassed 
and  strode  nearer. 

32 


\ 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 

"  Captain,  whar  am  I  goin'  to  git  ten  men  to 
face  them  Kanetuckians?  " 

"  Whar  air  they  goin'  to  git  a  off'cer  to  lead 
'em,  you'd  better  say,"  said  the  captain,  severely, 
fearing  that  some  of  the  soldiers  had  heard  the 
question.  "  If  you  air  afeer'd,  suh  " — and  then 
he  saw  that  no  one  had  heard,  and  he  winked — 
winked  with  most  unmilitary  familiarity. 

44  Air  you  a  good  climber,  Lieutenant 
Boggs?"  Lieutenant  Boggs  looked  mystified, 
but  he  said  he  was. 

"  Lieutenant  Boggs,  I  now  give  you  the  op- 
portunity to  show  yo'  profound  knowledge  of 
the  ticktacks  of  war.  You  may  now  be  guilty 
of  disobedience  of  ordahs,  and  I  will  not  have 
you  court-martialled  for  the  same.  In  other 
words,  if,  after  a  survey  of  the  situation,  you 
think  best — why,"  the  captain's  voice  dropped 
to  a  hoarse  whisper,  "  pull  that  flag  down,  Lieu- 
tenant Boggs,  pull  her  down." 


33 


Ill 


XT  was  an  hour  by  sun  now.  Lieutenant 
Boggs  and  his  devoted  band  of  ten  were 
making  their  way  slowly  and  watchfully  up  the 
mighty  chasm — the  lieutenant  with  his  hand  on 
his  sword  and  his  head  bare,  and  bowed  in 
thought.  The  Kentuckians  were  on  their  way 
— at  that  moment  they  might  be  riding  full  speed 
toward  the  mouth  of  Pigeon,  where  floated  the 
flag.  They  might  gobble  him  and  his  com- 
mand up  when  they  emerged  from  the  Gap. 
Suppose  they  caught  him  up  that  tree.  His 
command  might  escape,  but  he  would  be  up 
there,  saving  them  the  trouble  of  stringing  him 
up.  All  they  would  have  to  do  would  be  to  send 
up  after  him  a  man  with  a  rope,  and  let  him 
drop.  That  was  enough.  Lieutenant  Boggs 
called  a  halt  and  explained  the  real  purpose  of 
the  expedition. 

"  We  will  wait  here  till  dark,"  he  said,  "  so 
them  Kanetuckians  can't  ketch  us,  whilst  we  are 
climbing  that  tree." 

And  so  they  waited  opposite  Bee  Rock,  which 
was  making  ready  to  blossom  with  purple  rho- 
34 


THE  AEMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN 


dodendrons.  And  the  reserve  back  in  the  Gap, 
under  Lieutenant  Skaggs,  waited.  Waited,  too, 
the  Army  of  the  Callahan  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Gap,  and  waited  restlessly  Captain  Wells  at  the 
door  of  his  tent,  and  Flitter  Bill  on  the  stoop  of 
his  store — waited  everybody  but  Tallow  Dick, 
who,  in  the  general  confusion,  was  slipping 
through  the  rhododendrons  along  the  bank  of 
Roaring  Fork,  until  he  could  climb  the  moun- 
tain-side and  slip  through  the  Gap  high  over 
the  army's  head. 

What  could  have  happened? 

When  dusk  was  falling,  Captain  Wells  dis- 
patched a  messenger  to  Lieutenant  Skaggs  and 
his  reserve,  and  got  an  answer;  Lieutenant 
Skaggs  feared  that  Boggs  had  been  captured 
without  the  firing  of  a  single  shot — but  the  flag 
was  floating  still.  An  hour  later,  Lieutenant 
Skaggs  sent  another  message — he  could  not  see 
the  flag.    Captain  Wells  answered,  stoutly: 

"  Hold  yo'  own." 

And  so,  as  darkness  fell,  the  Army  of  the  Cal- 
lahan waited  in  the  strain  of  mortal  expectancy 
as  one  man;  and  Flitter  Bill  waited,  with  his 
horse  standing  saddled  in  the  barn,  ready  for 
swift  flight.  And,  as  darkness  fell,  Tallow 
Dick  was  cautiously  picking  his  way  alongside 
the  steep  wall  of  the  Gap  toward  freedom,  and 
picking  it  with  stealthy  caution,  foot  by  foot; 


35 


THE  ABMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN 


for  up  there,  to  this  day,  big  loose  rocks  mount 
halfway  to  the  jagged  points  of  the  black  cliffs, 
and  a  careless  step  would  have  detached  one  and 
sent  an  avalanche  of  rumbling  stones  down  to 
betray  him.  A  single  shot  rang  suddenly  out 
far  up  through  the  Gap,  and  the  startled  negro 
sprang  forward,  slipped,  and,  with  a  low,  fright- 
ened oath,  lay  still.  Another  shot  followed, 
and  another.  Then  a  hoarse  murmur  rose, 
loudened  into  thunder,  and  ended  in  a  frightful 
— boom !  One  yell  rang  from  the  army's  throat : 

"  The  Kentuckians !  The  Kentuckians !  The 
wild,  long-haired,  terrible  Kentuckians!  " 

Captain  Wells  sprang  into  the  air. 

"  My  God,  they've  got  a  cannon !  " 

Then  there  was  a  martial  chorus — the  crack 
of  rifle,  the  hoarse  cough  of  horse-pistol,  the 
roar  of  old  muskets. 

"Bing!  Bang!  Boom!  Bing — bing!  Bang 
— bang !  Boom — boom !  Bing — bang — boom !  11 

Lieutenant  Skaggs  and  his  reserves  heard  the 
beat  of  running  feet  down  the  Gap. 

"  They've  gobbled  Boggs,"  he  said,  and  the 
reserve  rushed  after  him  as  he  fled.  The  army 
heard  the  beat  of  their  coming  feet. 

"  They've  gobbled  Skaggs,"  the  army  said. 

Then  was  there  bedlam  as  the  army  fled — a 
crashing  through  bushes — a  splashing  into  the 
river,  the  rumble  of  mule  wagons,  yells  of  ter- 

36 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


ror,  swift  flying  shapes  through  the  pale  moon- 
light. Flitter  Bill  heard  the  din  as  he  stood  by 
his  barn  door. 

"  They've  gobbled  the  army,"  said  Flitter 
Bill,  and  he,  too,  fled  like  a  shadow  down  the 
valley. 

Nature  never  explodes  such  wild  and  senseless 
energy  as  when  she  lets  loose  a  mob  in  a  panic. 
With  the  army,  it  was  each  man  for  himself  and 
devil  take  the  hindmost;  and  the  flight  of  the 
army  was  like  a  flight  from  the  very  devil  him- 
self. Lieutenant  Boggs,  whose  feet  were  the 
swiftest  in  the  hills,  outstripped  his  devoted 
band.  Lieutenant  Skaggs,  being  fat  and  slow, 
fell  far  behind  his  reserve,  and  dropped  ex- 
hausted on  a  rock  for  a  moment  to  get  his  breath. 
As  he  rose,  panting,  to  resume  flight,  a  figure 
bounded  out  of  the  darkness  behind  him,  and  he 
gathered  it  in  silently  and  went  with  it  to  the 
ground,  where  both  fought  silently  in  the  dust 
until  they  rolled  into  the  moonlight  and  each 
looked  the  other  in  the  face. 

"  That  you,  Jim  Skaggs?  " 

"  That  you,  Tom  Boggs?  " 

Then  the  two  lieutenants  rose  swiftly,  but  a 
third  shape  bounded  into  the  road — a  gigantic 
figure — Black  Tom !  With  a  startled  yell  they 
gathered  him  in — one  by  the  waist,  the  other 
about  the  neck,  and,  for  a  moment,  the  terrible 
37 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN" 


Kentuckian — it  could  be  none  other — swung  the 
two  clear  of  the  ground,  but  the  doughty  lieuten- 
ants hung  to  him.  Boggs  trying  to  get  his  knife 
and  Skaggs  his  pistol,  and  all  went  down  in  a 
heap. 

"I  surrender — I  surrender!"  It  was  the 
giant  who  spoke,  and  at  the  sound  of  his  voice 
both  men  ceased  to  struggle,  and,  strange  to  say, 
no  one  of  the  three  laughed. 

"  Lieutenant  Boggs,"  said  Captain  Wells, 
thickly,  "  take  yo'  thumb  out  o'  my  mouth.  Lieu- 
tenant Skaggs,  leggo  my  leg  an'  stop  bitin'  me." 

"  Sh— sh— sh— "  said  all  three. 

The  faint  swish  of  bushes  as  Lieutenant 
Boggs's  ten  men  scuttled  into  the  brush  behind 
them — the  distant  beat  of  the  army's  feet  get- 
ting fainter  ahead  of  them,  and  then  silence — 
dead,  dead  silence. 

"Sh— sh— sh!" 

*4*         *^         *f»  ^i* 

With  the  red  streaks  of  dawn  Captain  May- 
hall  Wells  was  pacing  up  and  down  in  front  of 
Flitter  Bill's  store,  a  gaping  crowd  about  him, 
and  the  shattered  remnants  of  the  army  drawn 
up  along  Roaring  Fork  in  the  rear.  An  hour 
later  Flitter  Bill  rode  calmly  in. 

"  I  stayed  all  night  down  the  valley,"  said 
Flitter  Bill.    "  Uncle  Jim  Richmond  was  sick. 

38 


THE  ARMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


I  hear  you  had  some  trouble  last  night,  Captain 
Wells."    The  captain  expanded  his  chest. 

"  Trouble !  "  he  repeated,  sarcastically.  And 
then  he  told  how  a  charging  horde  of  dare- 
devils had  driven  him  from  camp  with  over- 
whelming numbers  and  one  piece  of  artillery; 
how  he  had  rallied  the  army  and  fought  them 
back,  foot  by  foot,  and  put  them  to  fearful  rout; 
how  the  army  had  fallen  back  again  just  when 
the  Kentuckians  were  running  like  sheep,  and 
how  he  himself  had  stayed  in  the  rear  with  Lieu- 
tenant Boggs  and  Lieutenant  Skaggs,  "  to  cover 
their  retreat,  suh,"  and  how  the  purveyor,  if 
he  would  just  go  up  through  the  Gap,  would 
doubtless  find  the  cannon  that  the  enemy  had 
left  behind  in  their  flight  It  was  just  while  he 
was  thus  telling  the  tale  for  the  twentieth  time 
that  two  figures  appeared  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill  and  drew  near — Hence  Sturgill  on  horse- 
back and  Tallow  Dick  on  foot. 

"  I  ketched  this  nigger  in  my  corn-fieP  this 
mornin',"  said  Hence,  simply,  and  Flitter  Bill 
glared,  and  without  a  word  went  for  the 
blacksnake  ox-whip  that  hung  by  the  barn 
door. 

For  the  twenty-first  time  Captain  Wells 
started  his  tale  again,  and  with  every  pause  that 
he  made  for  breath  Hence  cackled  scorn. 

"  An\  Hence  Sturgill,  el  you  will  jus'  go  up 
39 


THE  AEMY  OP  THE  CALLAHAN 


in  the  Gap  you'll  find  a  cannon,  captured,  suh, 
by  me  an'  the  Army  of  the  Callahan,  an' — — " 

"  Cannon!"  Hence  broke  in.  "Speak  up, 
nigger!"  And  Tallow  Dick  spoke  up — grin- 
ning: 

"  I  done  it!" 

"What!  "  shouted  Flitter  Bill. 

"  I  kicked  a  rock  loose  climbin'  over  Calla- 
han's Nose." 

Bill  dropped  his  whip  with  a  chuckle  of  pure 
ecstasy.  Mayhall  paled  and  stared.  The  crowd 
roared,  the  Army  of  the  Callahan  grinned,  and 
Hence  climbed  back  on  his  horse. 

"  Mayhall  Wells,"  he  said,  "  plain  ole  May- 
hall  Wells,  I'll  see  you  on  Couht  Day.  I  ain'^ 
got  time  now," 

And  he  rode  away. 


40 


IV 


THAT  day  Captain  Mayhall  Wells  and  the 
Army  of  the  Callahan  were  in  disrepute. 
Next  day  the  awful  news  of  Lee's  surrender 
came.  Captain  Wells  refused  to  believe  it,  and 
still  made  heroic  effort  to  keep  his  shattered  com- 
mand together.  Looking  for  recruits  on  Court 
Day,  he  was  twitted  about  the  rout  of  the  army 
by  Hence  Sturgill,  whose  long-coveted  chance  to 
redeem  himself  had  come.  Again,  as  several 
times  before,  the  captain  declined  to  fight — his 
health  was  essential  to  the  general  well-being — 
but  Hence  laughed  in  his  face,  and  the  captain 
had  to  face  the  music,  though  the  hea^t  of  him 
was  gone. 

He  fought  well,  for  he  was  fighting  for  his 
all,  and  he  knew  it.  He  could  have  whipped 
with  ease,  and  he  did  whip,  but  the  spirit  of  the 
thoroughbred  was  not  in  Captain  Mayhall 
Wells.  He  had  Sturgill  down,  but  Hence  sank 
his  teeth  into  Mayhall's  thigh  while  MayhalPs 
hands  grasped  his  opponent's  throat.  The  cap- 
tain had  only  to  squeeze,  as  every  rough-and- 
tumble  fighter  knew,  and  endure  his  pain  until 
41 


1 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


Hence  would  have  to  give  in.  But  Mayhall 
was  not  built  to  endure.  He  roared  like  a  bull 
as  soon  as  the  teeth  met  in  his  flesh,  his  fingers 
relaxed,  and  to  the  disgusted  surprise  of  every- 
body he  began  to  roar  with  great  distinctness  and 
agony : 

'"Nough!  'Nough!" 

The  end  was  come,  and  nobody  knew  it  better 
than  Mayhall  Wells.  He  rode  home  that  night 
with  hands  folded  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle 
and  his  beard  crushed  by  his  chin  against  his 
breast.  For  the  last  time,  next  morning  he  rode 
down  to  Flitter  Bill's  store.  On  the  way  he  met 
Parson  Kilburn  and  for  the  last  time  Mayhall 
Wells  straightened  his  shoulders  and  for  one 
moment  more  resumed  his  part :  perhaps  the  par- 
son  had  not  heard  of  his  fall. 

"  Good-mornin',  parsing,"  he  said,  pleasantly. 
"  Ah — where  have  you  been?  "  The  parson  was 
returning  from  Cumberland  Gap,  whither  he 
had  gone  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance. 

"  By  the  way,  I  have  something  here  for  you 
which  Flitter  Bill  asked  me  to  give  you.  He 
said  it  was  from  the  commandant  at  Cumberland 
Gap." 

"  Fer  me?  "  asked  the  captain — hope  spring- 
ing anew  in  his  heart.  The  parson  handed 
him  a  letter.  Mayhall  looked  at  it  upside 
down. 

42 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


"  If  you  please,  parsing,"  he  said,  handing  it 
back,  "  I  hev  left  my  specs  at  horned' 

The  parson  read  that,  whereas  Captain  Wells 
had  been  guilty  of  grave  misdemeanors  while  in 
command  of  the  Army  of  the  Callahan,  he 
should  be  arrested  and  court-martialled  for  the 
same,  or  be  given  the  privilege  of  leaving  the 
county  in  twenty- four  hours.  Mayhall's  face 
paled  a  little  and  he  stroked  his  beard. 

"  Ah — does  anybody  but  you  know  about  this 
ordah,  parsing?  " 

"  Nobody." 

"  Well,  if  you  will  do  me  the  great  favor, 
parsing,  of  not  mentioning  it  to  nary  a  living 
soul — as  fer  me  and  my  ole  gray  hoss  and  my 
household  furniture — we'll  be  in  Kanetuck  afore 
daybreak  to-morrow  mornin' !  "    And  he  was. 

But  he  rode  on  just  then  and  presented  him- 
self for  the  last  time  at  the  store  of  Flitter  Bill. 
Bill  was  sitting  on  the  stoop  in  his  favorite  pos- 
ture. And  in  a  moment  there  stood  before  him 
plain  Mayhall  Wells — holding  out  the  order 
Bill  had  given  the  parson  that  day. 

"  Misto  Richmond,"  he  said,  "  I  have  come 
to  tell  you  good-by." 

Now  just  above  the  selfish  layers  of  fat  under 
Flitter  Bill's  chubby  hands  was  a  very  kind  heart. 
When  he  saw  Mayhall's  old  manner  and  heard 
the  old  respectful  way  of  address,  and  felt  the 

43 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


dazed  helplessness  of  the  big,  beaten  man,  the 
heart  thumped. 

"I  am  sorry  about  that  little  amount  I  owe 
you;  I  think  I'll  be  able  shortly — "  But  Bill 
cut  him  short.  Mayhall  Wells,  beaten,  dis- 
graced, driven  from  home  on  charge  of  petty 
crimes,  of  which  he  was  undoubtedly  guilty,  but 
for  which  Bill  knew  he  himself  was  responsible 
— Mayhall  on  his  way  into  exile  and  still  per 
suading  himself  and,  at  that  moment,  almost 
persuading  him  that  he  meant  to  pay  that  little 
debt  of  long  ago — was  too  much  for  Flitter  Bill, 
and  he  proceeded  to  lie — -lying  with  deliberation 
and  pleasure. 

"  Captain  Wells,"  he  said — and  the  emphasis 
on  the  title  was  balm  to  Mayhall's  soul — "  you 
have  protected  me  in  time  of  war,  an'  you  air 
welcome  to  yo'  uniform  an'  you  air  welcome  to 
that  little  debt.  Yes,"  he  went  on,  reaching 
down  into  his  pocket  and  pulling  out  a  roll  of 
bills,  "  I  tender  you  in  payment  for  that  same 
protection  the  regular  pay  of  a  officer  in  the 
Confederate  service  " — and  he  handed  out  the 
army  pay  for  three  months  in  Confederate 
greenbacks — "  an'  five  dollars  in  money  of  the 
United  States,  of  which  I  an',  doubtless,  you, 
suh,  air  true  and  loyal  citizens.  Captain  Wells, 
I  bid  you  good-by  an'  I  wish  ye  well — I  wish  ye 
well." 

44 


THE  AEMY  OF  THE  CALLAHAN 


From  the  stoop  of  his  store  Bill  watched  the 
captain  ride  away,  drooping  at  the  shoulders, 
and  with  his  hands  folded  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle — his  dim  blue  eyes  misty,  the  jaunty  for- 
age cap  a  mockery  of  his  iron-gray  hair,  and  the 
flaps  of  his  coat  fanning  either  side  like  mourn- 
ful wings. 

And  Flitter  Bill  muttered  to  himself: 
"  Atter  he's  gone  long  enough  fer  these  things 
to  blow  over,  I'm  going  to  bring  him  back  and 
give  him  another  chance — yes,  damme  if  I  don't 
git  him  back." 

And  Bill  dropped  his  remorseful  eye  to  the 
order  in  his  hand.  Like  the  handwriting  of  the 
order  that  lifted  Mayhall  like  magic  into  power, 
the  handwriting  of  this  order,  that  dropped  him 
like  a  stone — was  Flitter  Bill's  own. 


45 


THE  PARDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


THE  missionary  was  young  and  she  was 
from  the  North.  Her  brows  were 
straight,  her  nose  was  rather  high,  and  her  eyes 
were  clear  and  gray.  The  upper  lip  of  her  little 
mouth  was  so  short  that  the  teeth  just  under  it 
were  never  quite  concealed.  It  was  the  mouth 
of  a  child  and  it  gave  the  face,  with  all  its  ^ 
strength  and  high  purpose,  a  peculiar  pathos  that 
no  soul  in  that  little  mountain  town  had  the 
power  to  see  or  feel.  A  yellow  mule  was  hitched 
to  the  rickety  fence  in  front  of  her  and  she  stood 
on  the  stoop  of  a  little  white  frame-house  with 
an  elm  switch  between  her  teeth  and  gloves  on 
her  hands,  which  were  white  and  looked  strong. 
The  mule  wore  a  man's  saddle,  but  no  matter — 
the  streets  were  full  of  yellow  pools,  the  mud 
was  ankle-deep,  and  she  was  on  her  way  to  the 
sick-bed  of  Becky  Day. 

There  was  a  flood  that  morning.  All  the  pre- 
ceding day  the  rains  had  drenched  the  high 
slopes  unceasingly.  That  night,  the  rain-clear 
forks  of  the  Kentucky  got  yellow  and  rose  high, 

46 


THE  PAKDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


and  now  they  crashed  together  around  the  town 
and,  after  a  heaving  conflict,  started  the  river  on 
one  quivering,  majestic  sweep  to  the  sea. 

Nobody  gave  heed  that  the  girl  rode  a  mule 
or  that  the  saddle  was  not  her  own,  and  both 
facts  she  herself  quickly  forgot.  This  half  log, 
half  frame  house  on  a  corner  had  stood  a  siege 
once.  She  could  yet  see  bullet  holes  about  the 
door.  Through  this  window,  a  revenue  officer 
from  the  Blue  Grass  had  got  a  bullet  in  the 
shoulder  from  a  garden  in  the  rear.  Standing 
in  the  post-office  door  only  just  one  month  be- 
fore, she  herself  had  seen  children  scurrying  like 
rabbits  through  the  back-yard  fences,  men  run- 
ning silently  here  and  there,  men  dodging  into 
doorways,  fire  flashing  in  the  street  and  from 
every  house — and  not  a  sound  but  the  crack  of 
pistol  and  Winchester;  for  the  mountain  men 
deal  death  in  all  the  terrible  silence  of  death. 
And  now  a  preacher  with  a  long  scar  across  his 
forehead  had  come  to  the  one  little  church  in  the 
place  and  the  fervor  of  religion  was  struggling 
with  feudal  hate  for  possession  of  the  town.  To 
the  girl,  who  saw  a  symbol  in  every  mood  of  the 
earth,  the  passions  of  these  primitive  people 
were  like  the  treacherous  streams  of  the  uplands 
— now  quiet  as  sunny  skies  and  now  clashing  to- 
gether with  but  little  less  fury  and  with  much 
more  noise.    And  the  roar  of  the  flood  above 

47 


THE  PARDON*  OF  BECKY  DAY 


the  wind  that  late  afternoon  was  the  wrath  of 
the  Father,  that  with  the  peace  of  the  Son  so 
long  on  earth,  such  things  still  could  be.  Once 
more  trouble  was  threatening  and  that  day  even 
she  knew  that  trouble  might  come,  but  she  rode 
without  fear,  for  she  went  when  and  where  she 
pleased  as  any  woman  can,  throughout  the  Cum- 
berland, without  insult  or  harm. 

At  the  end  of  the  street  were  two  houses  that 
seemed  to  front  each  other  with  unmistakable 
enmity.  In  them  were  two  men  who  had 
wounded  each  other  only  the  day  before,  and 
who  that  day  would  lead  the  factions,  if  the  old 
feud  broke  loose  again.  One  house  was  close 
to  the  frothing  hem  of  the  flood — a  log-hut  with 
a  shed  of  rough  boards  for  a  kitchen — the  home 
of  Becky  Day. 

The  other  was  across  the  way  and  was  framed 
and  smartly  painted.  On  the  steps  sat  a  woman 
with  her  head  bare  and  her  hands  under  her 
apron — widow  of  the  Marcum  whose  death 
from  a  bullet  one  month  before  had  broken  the 
long  truce  of  the  feud.  A  groaning  curse  was 
growled  from  the  window  as  the  girl  drew  near, 
and  she  knew  it  came  from  a  wounded  Marcum 
who  had  lately  come  back  from  the  West  to 
avenge  his  brother's  death. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  over  to  see  your  neigh- 
bor? "    The  girl's  clear  eyes  gave  no  hint  that 

48 


THE  PAKDON"  OP  BECKY  DAY 

she  knew — as  she  well  did — the  trouble  between 
the  houses,  and  the  widow  stared  in  sheer  amaze- 
ment, for  mountaineers  do  not  talk  with  strang- 
ers of  the  quarrels  between  them. 

"  I  have  nothin'  to  do  with  such  as  her,"  she 
said,  sullenly;  "  she  ain't  the  kind  " 

"  Don't !  "  said  the  girl,  with  a  flush,  "  she's 
dying." 

"Dyiri?" 

"  Yes."  With  the  word  the  girl  sprang  from 
the  mule  and  threw  the  reins  over  the  pale  of  the 
fence  in  front  of  the  log-hut  across  the  way.  In 
the  doorway  she  turned  as  though  she  would 
speak  to  the  woman  on  the  steps  again,  but  a  tall 
man  with  a  black  beard  appeared  in  the  low  door 
of  the  kitchen-shed. 

"  How  is  your — how  is  Mrs.  Day?  " 

"  Mighty  puny  this  mornin' — Becky  is." 

The  girl  slipped  into  the  dark  room.  On  a 
disordered,  pillowless  bed  lay  a  white  face  with 
eyes  closed  and  mouth  slightly  open.  Near  the 
bed  was  a  low  wood  fire.  On  the  hearth  were 
several  thick  cups  filled  with  herbs  and  heavy 
fluids  and  covered  with  tarpaulin,  for  Becky's 
"  man  "  was  a  teamster.  With  a  few  touches  of 
the  girl's  quick  hands,  the  covers  of  the  bed  were 
smooth,  and  the  woman's  eyes  rested  on  the 
girl's  own  cloak.  With  her  own  handkerchief 
she  brushed  the  death-damp  from  the  forehead 

49 


THE  PAKDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


that  already  seemed  growing  cold.  At  her  first 
touch,  the  woman's  eyelids  opened  and  dropped 
together  again.  Her  lips  moved,  but  no  sound 
came  from  them. 

In  a  moment  the  ashes  disappeared,  the  hearth 
was  clean  and  the  fire  was  blazing.  Every 
time  the  girl  passed  the  window  she  saw  the 
widow  across  the  way  staring  hard  at  the  hut. 
When  she  took  the  ashes  into  the  street,  the 
woman  spoke  to  her. 

"  I  can't  go  to  see  Becky — she  hates  me." 

"  With  good  reason." 

The  answer  came  with  a  clear  sharpness  that 
made  the  widow  start  and  redden  angrily;  but 
the  girl  walked  straight  to  the  gate,  her  eyes 
ablaze  with  all  the  courage  that  the  mountain 
woman  knew  and  yet  with  another  courage  to 
which  the  primitive  creature  was  a  stranger — a 
courage  that  made  the  widow  lower  her  own 
eyes  and  twist  her  hands  under  her  apron. 

"  I  want  you  to  come  and  ask  Becky  to  for- 
give you." 

The  woman  stared  and  laughed. 

"  Forgive  me?  Becky  forgive  me?  She 
wouldn't — an'  I  don't  want  her — "  She  could 
not  look  up  into  the  girl's  eyes ;  but  she  pulled  a 
pipe  from  under  the  apron,  laid  it  down  with  a 
trembling  hand  and  began  to  rock  slightly. 

The  girl  leaned  across  the  gate. 

5° 


THE  PAKDON  OP  BECKY  DAY 


a  Look  at  me!"  she  said,  sharply.  The 
woman  raised  her  eyes,  swerved  them  once,  and 
then  in  spite  of  herself,  held  them  steady. 

"  Listen!  Do  you  want  a  dying  woman's 
curse?  " 

It  was  a  straight  thrust  to  the  core  of  a  super- 
stitious heart  and  a  spasm  of  terror  crossed  the 
woman's  face.    She  began  to  wring  her  hands. 

u  Come  on !  "  said  the  girl,  sternly,  and 
turned,  without  looking  back,  until  she  reached 
the  door  of  the  hut,  where  she  beckoned  and 
stood  waiting,  while  the  woman  started  slowly 
and  helplessly  from  the  steps,  still  wringing  her 
hands.  Inside,  behind  her,  the  wounded  Mar- 
cum,  who  had  been  listening,  raised  himself  on 
one  elbow  and  looked  after  her  through  the  win- 
dow. 

"  She  can't  come  in — not  while  I'm  in  here." 

The  girl  turned  quickly.  It  was  Dave  Day, 
the  teamster,  in  the  kitchen  door,  and  his  face 
looked  blacker  than  his  beard. 

"  Oh!  "  she  said,  simply,  as  though  hurt,  and 
then  with  a  dignity  that  surprised  her,  the  team- 
ster turned  and  strode  towards  the  back  door. 

"  But  I  can  git  out,  I  reckon,"  he  said,  and  he 
never  looked  at  the  widow  who  had  stopped, 
frightened,  at  the  gate. 

"  Oh,  I  can't — I  can't  I "  she  said,  and  her 
voice  broke;  but  the  girl  gently  pushed  her  to 

5* 


THE  PARDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


the  door,  where  she  stopped  again,  leaning 
against  the  lintel.  Across  the  way,  the  wounded 
Marcum,  with  a  scowl  of  wonder,  crawled  out 
of  his  bed  and  started  painfully  to  the  door. 
The  girl  saw  him  and  her  heart  beat  fast. 

Inside,  Becky  lay  with  closed  eyes.  She  stirred 
uneasily,  as  though  she  felt  some  hated  presence, 
but  her  eyes  stayed  fast,  for  the  presence  of 
Death  in  the  room  was  stronger  still. 

"  Becky!  "  At  the  broken  cry,  Becky's  eyes 
flashed  wide  and  fire  broke  through  the  haze 
that  had  gathered  in  them. 

"  I  want  ye  ter  fergive  me,  Becky." 

The  eyes  burned  steadily  for  a  long  time. 
For  two  days  she  had  not  spoken,  but  her  voice 
came  now,  as  though  from  the  grave. 

"  You !  "  she  said,  and,  again,  with  torturing 
scorn,  "  You !  "  And  then  she  smiled,  for  she 
knew  why  her  enemy  was  there,  and  her  hour  of 
triumph  was  come.  The  girl  moved  swiftly  to 
the  window — she  could  see  the  wounded  Mar- 
cum slowly  crossing  the  street,  pistol  in  hand. 

"  What'd  I  ever  do  to  you?  " 

"  Nothin',  Becky,  nothin'." 

Becky  laughed  harshly.  "  You  can  tell  the 
truth — can't  ye — to  a  dyin'  woman?  " 

"  Fergive  me,  Becky!  M 

A  scowling  face,  tortured  with  pain,  was 
thrust  into  the  window. 

52 


THE  PAKDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


"  Sh-h !  "  whispered  the  girl,  Imperiously,  and 
the  man  lifted  his  heavy  eyes,  dropped  one  elbow 
on  the  window-sill  and  waited. 

"  You  tuk  Jim  from  me!" 

The  widow  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  the  Marcum  at  the  window — brother  to 
Jim,  who  was  dead — lowered  at  her,  listening 
keenly. 

"  An'  you  got  him  by  lyin'  'bout  me.  You 
tuk  him  by  lyin'  'bout  me — didn't  ye?  Didn't 
ye?  "  she  repeated,  fiercely,  and  her  voice  would 
have  wrung  the  truth  from  a  stone. 

"  Yes— Becky— yes!  " 

u  You  hear?  "  cried  Becky,  turning  her  eyes 
to  the  girl. 

"  You  made  him  believe  an'  made  ever'body, 
you  could,  believe  that  I  was — was  bad"  Her 
breath  got  short,  but  the  terrible  arraignment 
went  on. 

"  You  started  this  war.  My  brother  would- 
n't 'a'  shot  Jim  Marcum  if  it  hadn't  been  fer 
you.  You  killed  Jim — your  own  husband — an' 
you  killed  me.  An'  now  you  want  me  to  fer- 
give  you — you !  "  She  raised  her  right  hand  as 
though  with  it  she  would  hurl  the  curse  behind 
her  lips,  and  the  widow,  with  a  cry,  sprang  for 
the  bony  fingers,  catching  them  in  her  own  hand 
and  falling  over  on  her  knees  at  the  bedside. 

"  Don't,  Becky,  don't— don't— don't!  " 

53 


THE  PAKDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


There  was  a  slight  rustle  at  the  back  window. 
At  the  other,  a  pistol  flashed  into  sight  and 
dropped  again  below  the  sill.  Turning,  the 
girl  saw  Dave's  bushy  black  head — he,  too,  with 
one  elbow  on  the  sill  and  the  other  hand  out  of 
sight. 

"  Shame!  "  she  said,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  two  men,  who  had  learned,  at  last, 
the  bottom  truth  of  the  feud;  and  then  she 
caught  the  sick  woman's  other  hand  and  spoke 
quickly. 

"  Hush,  Becky,"  she  said;  and  at  the  touch  of 
her  hand  and  the  sound  of  her  voice,  Becky 
looked  confusedly  at  her  and  let  her  upraised 
hand  sink  back  to  the  bed.  The  widow  stared 
swiftly  from  Jim's  brother,  at  one  window,  to 
Dave  Day  at  the  other,  and  hid  her  face  on  her 
arms. 

u  Remember,  Becky — how  can  you  expect  for- 
giveness in  another  world,  unless  you  forgive  in 
this?" 

The  woman's  brow  knitted  and  she  lay  quiet. 
Like  the  widow  who  held  her  hand,  the  dying 
woman  believed,  with  never  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt,  that  somewhere  above  the  stars,  a  living 
God  reigned  in  a  heaven  of  never-ending  happi- 
ness; that  somewhere  beneath  the  earth  a  per- 
sonal devil  gloated  over  souls  in  eternal  torture ; 
*hat  whether  she  went-  above,  or  below,  hung 
54 


THE  PAEDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


solely  on  her  last  hour  of  contrition;  and  that  in 
heaven  or  hell  she  would  know  those  whom  she 
might  meet  as  surely  as  she  had  known  them  on 
earth.  By  and  by  her  face  softened  and  she 
drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Jim  was  a  good  man,"  she  said.  And  then 
after  a  moment: 

"  An'  I  was  a  good  woman  " — she  turned  her 
eyes  towards  the  girl — "  until  Jim  married  her. 
I  didn't  keer  after  that."  Then  she  got  calm, 
and  while  she  spoke  to  the  widow,  she  looked  at 
the  girl. 

"  Will  you  git  up  in  church  an5  say  before 
ever'body  that  you  knew  I  was  good  when  you 
said  I  was  bad- — that  you  lied  about  me?  " 

"  Yes — yes."  Still  Becky  looked  at  the  girl, 
who  stooped  again. 

"  She  will,  Becky,  I  know  she  will.  Won't 
you  forgive  her  and  leave  peace  behind  you? 
Dave  and  Jim's  brother  are  here — make  them 
shake  hands.  Won't  you — won't  you?"  she 
asked,  turning  from  one  to  the  other. 

Both  men  were  silent. 

"  Won't  you?  "  she  repeated,  looking  at  Jim's 
brother. 

11  I've  got  nothin'  agin  Dave.  I  always 
thought  that  she  " — he  did  not  call  his  brother's 
wife  by  name — caused  all  this  trouble.  I've 
nothin'  agin  Dave." 

55 


THE  PAKDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 


The  girl  turned.    "  Won't  you,  Dave?  " 

M  I'm  waitin'  to  hear  whut  Becky  says." 

Becky  was  listening,  though  her  eyes  were 
closed.  Her  brows  knitted  painfully.  It  was 
a  hard  compromise  that  she  was  asked  to  make 
between  mortal  hate  and  a  love  that  was  more 
than  mortal^  but  the  Plea  that  has  stood  between 
them  for  nearly  twenty  centuries  prevailed,  and 
the  girl  knew  that  the  end  of  the  feud  was  nigh. 

Becky  nodded. 

"  Yes,  I  fergive  her,  an'  I  want  'em  to  shake 
hands." 

But  not  once  did  she  turn  her  eyes  to  the 
woman  whom  she  forgave,  and  the  hand  that  the 
widow  held  gave  back  no  answering  pressure. 
The  faces  at  the  windows  disappeared,  and  she 
motioned  for  the  girl  to  take  her  weeping  enemy 
away. 

She  did  not  open  her  eyes  when  the  girl  came 
back,  but  her  lips  moved  and  the  girl  bent  above 
her. 

"  I  know  whar  Jim  is." 

From  somewhere  outside  came  Dave's  cough, 
and  the  dying  woman  turned  her  head  as 
though  she  were  reminded  of  something  she 
had  quite  forgotten.  Then,  straightway,  she 
forgot  again. 

The  voice  of  the  flood  had  deepened.  A 
smile  carne  to  Becky's  lips — a  faint,  terrible 

56 


THE  PAKDON  OF  BECKY  DAY 

smile  of  triumph.  The  girl  bent  low  and,  with 
a  startled  face,  shrank  back. 

«  An}  I'll— git— thar— first 

With  that  whisper  went  Becky's  last  breath, 
but  the  smile  was  there,  even  when  her  lips  were 
cold, 


A  CRISIS  FOR  THE  GUARD 


THE  tutor  was  from  New  England,  and  he 
was  precisely  what  passes,  with  South- 
erners, as  typical.  He  was  thin,  he  wore  spec- 
tacles, he  talked  dreamy  abstractions,  and  he 
looked  clerical.  Indeed,  his  ancestors  had  been 
clergymen  for  generations,  and,  by  nature  and 
principle,  he  was  an  apostle  of  peace  and  a  non- 
combatant.  He  had  just  come  to  the  Gap — a 
cleft  in  the  Cumberland  Mountains — to  prepare 
two  young  Blue  Grass  Kentuckians  for  Harvard. 
The  railroad  was  still  thirty  miles  away,  and  he 
had  travelled  mule-back  through  mudholes,  on 
which,  as  the  joke  ran,  a  traveller  was  supposed 
to  leave  his  card  before  he  entered  and  disap- 
peared— that  his  successor  might  not  unknow- 
ingly press  him  too  hard.  I  do  know  that,  in 
those  mudholes,  mules  were  sometimes  drowned. 
The  tutor's  gray  mule  fell  over  a  bank  with  him, 
and  he  would  have  gone  back  had  he  not  feared 
what  was  behind  more  than  anything  that  was 
possible  ahead.  He  was  mud-bespattered,  sore, 
tired  and  dispirited  when  he  reached  the  Gap, 
but  still  plucky  and  full  of  business.   He  wanted 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAED 


to  see  his  pupils  at  once  and  arrange  his  schedule. 
They  came  in  after  supper,  and  I  had  to  laugh 
when  I  saw  his  mild  eyes  open.  The  boys  were 
only  fifteen  and  seventeen,  but  each  had  around 
him  a  huge  revolver  and  a  belt  of  cartridges, 
which  he  unbuckled  and  laid  on  the  table  after 
shaking  hands.  The  tutor's  shining  glasses  were 
raised  to  me  for  light.  I  gave  it :  my  brothers 
had  just  come  in  from  a  little  police  duty,  I  ex- 
plained. Everybody  was  a  policeman  at  the 
Gap,  I  added;  and,  naturally,  he  still  looked  puz- 
zled; but  he  began  at  once  to  question  the  boys 
about  their  studies,  and,  in  an  hour,  he  had  his 
daily  schedule  mapped  out  and  submitted  to  me. 
I  had  to  cover  my  mouth  with  my  hand  when  I 
came  to  one  item — "  Exercise:  a  walk  of  half 
an  hour  every  Wednesday  afternoon  between 
five  and  six  " — for  the  younger,  known  since  at 
Harvard  as  the  colonel,  and  known  then  at  the 
Gap  as  the  Infant  of  the  Guard,  winked  most  ir- 
reverently. As  he  had  just  come  back  from  a 
ten-mile  chase  down  the  valley  on  horseback 
after  a  bad  butcher,  and  as  either  was  apt  to 
have  a  like  experience  any  and  every  day,  I 
was  not  afraid  they  would  fail  to  get  exercise 
enough;  so  I  let  that  item  of  the  tutor  pass. 

The  tutor  slept  in  my  room  that  night,  and 
my  four  brothers,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  a  lieu- 
tenant on  the  police  guard,  in  a  room  across  the 
59 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GTJAED 


hallway.  I  explained  to  the  tutor  that  there  was 
much  lawlessness  in  the  region;  that  we  "  for- 
eigners "  were  trying  to  build  a  town,  and  that, 
to  ensure  law  and  order,  we  had  all  become  vol- 
unteer policemen.  He  seemed  to  think  it  was 
most  interesting. 

About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  shrill 
whistle  blew,  and,  from  habit,  I  sprang  out  of 
bed.  I  had  hardly  struck  the  floor  when  four 
pairs  of  heavy  boots  thundered  down  the  stairs 
just  outside  the  door,  and  I  heard  a  gasp  from 
the  startled  tutor.  He  was  bolt  upright  in  bed, 
and  his  face  in  the  moonlight  was  white  with 
fear. 

«  Wha—wha— what's  that?  " 

I  told  him  it  was  a  police  whistle  and  that  the 
boys  were  answering  it.  Everybody  jumped 
when  he  heard  a  whistle,  I  explained ;  for  nobody 
in  town  was  permitted  to  blow  one  except  a  po- 
liceman. I  guessed  there  would  be  enough  men 
answering  that  whistle  without  me,  however,  and 
I  slipped  back  into  bed. 

"Well,"  he  said;  and  when  the  boys  lum- 
bered upstairs  again  and  one  shouted  through 
the  door,  "  All  right !  "  the  tutor  said  again  with 
emphasis:  "  Well!  " 

Next  day  there  was  to  be  a  political  gathering 
at  the  Gap.  A  Senator  was  trying  to  lift  him- 
self by  his  own  boot-straps  into  the  Governor's 
60 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAKD 


chair.  He  was  going  to  make  a  speech,  there 
would  be  a  big  and  unruly  crowd,  and  it  would 
be  a  crucial  day  for  the  Guard.  '  So,  next  morn- 
ing, I  suggested  to  the  tutor  that  it  would  be  un- 
wise for  him  to  begin  work  with  his  pupils  that 
day,  for  the  reason  that  he  was  likely  to  be 
greatly  interrupted  and  often.  He  thought, 
however,  he  would  like  to  begin.  He  did  begin, 
and  within  half  an  hour  Gordon,  the  town  ser- 
geant, thrust  his  head  inside  the  door  and  called 
the  colonel  by  name. 

"  Come  on,"  he  said;  "  they're  going  to  try 
that  d — n  butcher."  And  seeing  from  the  tu- 
tor's face  that  he  had  done  something  dreadful, 
he  slammed  the  door  in  apologetic  confusion. 
The  tutor  was  law-abiding,  and  it  was  the  law 
that  called  the  colonel,  and  so  the  tutor  let  him 
go — nay,  went  with  him  and  heard  the  case. 
The  butcher  had  gone  off  on  another  man's  horse 
— the  man  owed  him  money,  he  said,  and  the 
only  way  he  could  get  his  money  was  to  take  the 
horse  as  security.  But  the  sergeant  did  not  know 
this,  and  he  and  the  colonel  rode  after  him,  and 
the  colonel,  having  the  swifter  horse,  but  not 
having  had  time  to  get  his  own  pistol,  took  the 
sergeant's  and  went  ahead.  He  fired  quite  close 
to  the  running  butcher  twice,  and  the  butcher 
thought  it  wise  to  halt.  When  he  saw  the  child 
who  had  captured  him  he  was  speechless,  and  he 
6 1 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GTTAED 


got  off  his  horse  and  cut  a  big  switch  to  give  the 
colonel  a  whipping,  but  the  doughty  Infant  drew 
down  on  him  again  and  made  him  ride,  foaming 
with  rage,  back  to  town.  The  butcher  was  good- 
natured  at  the  trial,  however,  and  the  tutor  heard 
him  say,  with  a  great  guffaw: 

"  An'  I  do  believe  the  d — n  little  fool  would 
'a'  shot  me." 

Once  more  the  tutor  looked  at  the  pupil  whom 
he  was  to  lead  into  the  classic  halls  of  Harvard, 
and  once  more  he  said: 

"  Well !" 

People  were  streaming  into  town  now,  and  I 
persuaded  the  tutor  that  there  was  no  use  for 
him  to  begin  his  studies  again.  He  said  he  would 
go  fishing  down  the  river  and  take  a  swim.  He 
would  get  back  in  time  to  hear  the  speaking  in 
the  afternoon.  So  I  got  him  a  horse,  and  he 
came  out  with  a  long  cane  fishing-pole  and  a  pair 
of  saddle-bags.  I  told  him  that  he  must  watch 
the  old  nag  or  she  would  run  away  with  him, 
particularly  when  he  started  homeward.  The 
tutor  was  not  much  of  a  centaur.  The  horse 
started  as  he  was  throwing  the  wrong  leg  over 
his  saddle,  and  the  tutor  clamped  his  rod  under 
one  arm,  clutching  for  the  reins  with  both  hands 
and  kicking  for  his  stirrups  with  both  feet.  The 
tip  of  the  limber  pole  beat  the  horse's  flank  gen- 
tly as  she  struck  a  trot,  and  smartly  as  she  struck 
62 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAKD 


into  a  lope,  and  so  with  arms,  feet,  saddle-pock- 
ets, and  fishing-rod  flapping  towards  different 
points  of  the  compass,  the  tutor  passed  out  of 
sight  over  Poplar  Hill  on  a  dead  run. 

As  soon  as  he  could  get  over  a  fit  of  laughter 
and  catch  his  breath,  the  colonel  asked : 

"  Do  you  know  what  he  had  in  those  saddle- 
pockets?  " 

"  No." 

"  A  bathing  suit,"  he  shouted;  and  he  went  off 
again. 

Not  even  in  a  primeval  forest,  it  seemed, 
would  the  modest  Puritan  bare  his  body  to  the 
mirror  of  limpid  water  and  the  caress  of  moun- 
tain air. 

>K  jfc  jfc  $  H< 

The  trouble  had  begun  early  that  morning, 
when  Gordon,  the  town  sergeant,  stepped  from 
his  door  and  started  down  the  street  with  no  lit- 
tle self-satisfaction.  He  had  been  arraying  him- 
self for  a  full  hour,  and  after  a  tub-bath  and  a 
shave  he  stepped,  spick  and  span,  into  the  street 
with  his  head  steadily  held  high,  except  when  he 
bent  it  to  look  at  the  shine  of  his  boots,  which 
was  the  work  of  his  own  hands,  and  of  which 
he  was  proud.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  ser- 
geant felt  that  he  looked  just  as  he  particularly 
wanted  to  look  on  that  day — his  best.  Gordon 

63 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAED 


was  a  native  of  Wise,  but  that  day  a  girl  was 
coming  from  Lee,  and  he  was  ready  for  her. 

Opposite  the  Intermont,  a  pistol-shot  cracked 
from  Cherokee  Avenue,  and  from  habit  he 
started  that  way.  Logan,  the  captain  of  the 
Guard — the  leading  lawyer  in  that  part  of  the 
State — was  ahead  of  him  however,  and  he  called 
to  Gordon  to  follow.  Gordon  ran  in  the  grass 
along  the  road  to  keep  those  boots  out  of  the 
dust.  Somebody  had  fired  off  his  pistol  for  fun 
and  was  making  tracks  for  the  river.  As  they 
pushed  the  miscreant  close,  he  dashed  into  the 
river  to  wade  across.  It  was  a  very  cold  morn- 
ing, and  Gordon  prayed  that  the  captain  was  not 
going  to  be  such  a  fool  as  to  follow  the  fellow 
across  the  river.    He  should  have  known  better. 

"  In  with  you,"  said  the  captain  quietly,  and 
the  mirror  of  the  shining  boots  was  dimmed, 
and  the  icy  water  chilled  the  sergeant  to  the 
knees  and  made  him  so  mad  that  he  flashed  his 
pistol  and  told  the  runaway  to  halt,  which  he  did 
in  the  middle  of  the  stream.  It  was  Richards, 
the  tough  from  "  the  Pocket,"  and,  as  he  paid 
his  fine  promptly,  they  had  to  let  him  go.  Gor- 
don went  back,  put  on  his  everyday  clothes  and 
got  his  billy  and  his  whistle  and  prepared  to  see 
the  maid  from  Lee  when  his  duty  should  let  him. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  saw  her  but  once,  and 
then  he  was  not  made  happy. 

64 


A  CRISIS  FOR  THE  GUARD 


The  people  had  come  in  rapidly — giants  from 
the  Crab  Orchard,  mountaineers  from  through 
the  Gap,  and  from  Cracker's  Neck  and  Thun- 
derstruck Knob ;  Valley  people  from  Little  Stone 
Gap,  from  the  furnace  site  and  Bum  Hollow  and 
Wildcat,  and  people  from  Lee,  from  Turkey 
Cove,  and  from  the  Pocket — the  much-dreaded 
Pocket — far  down  in  the  river  hills. 

They  came  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  and  left 
their  horses  in  the  bushes  and  crowded  the  streets 
and  filled  the  saloon  of  one  Jack  Woods — who 
had  the  cackling  laugh  of  Satan  and  did  not  like 
the  Guard,  for  good  reasons,  and  whose  partic- 
ular pleasure  was  to  persuade  some  customer  to 
stir  up  a  hornet's  nest  of  trouble.  From  the 
saloon  the  crowd  moved  up  towards  the  big 
spring  at  the  foot  of  Imboden  Hill,  where,  under 
beautiful  trunk-mottled  beeches,  was  built  the 
speakers'  platform. 

Precisely  at  three  o'clock  the  local  orator, 
much  flurried,  rose,  ran  his  hand  through  his 
long  hair  and  looked  in  silence  over  the  crowd. 

"  Fellow  citizens !  There's  beauty  in  the  stars 
of  night  and  in  the  glowin'  orb  of  day.  There's 
beauty  in  the  rollin'  meadow  and  in  the  quiet 
stream.  There's  beauty  in  the  smilin'  valley 
and  in  the  everlastin'  hills.  Therefore,  fellow 
citizens — therefore,  fellow  citizens,  allow  me 
to  introduce  to  you  the  future  Governor  of  these 

65 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GTJAED 


United  States  —  Senator  William  Bayhone." 
And  he  sat  down  with  such  a  beatific  smile  of 
self-satisfaction  that  a  fiend  would  not  have  had 
the  heart  to  say  he  had  not  won. 

Now,  there  are  wandering  minstrels  yet  in  the 
Cumberland  Hills.  They  play  fiddles  and  go 
about  making  up  "  ballets  M  that  involve  local 
history.  Sometimes  they  make  a  pretty  good 
verse — this,  for  instance,  about  a  feud  : 

The  death  of  these  two  men 

Caused  great  trouble  in  our  land. 
Caused  men  to  leave  their  families 

And  take  the  parting  hand. 
Retaliation,  still  at  war, 

May  never,  never  cease. 
I  would  that  I  could  only  see 

Our  land  once  more  at  peace. 

There  was  a  minstrel  out  in  the  crowd,  and 
pretty  soon  he  struck  up  his  fiddle  and  his  lay, 
and  he  did  not  exactly  sing  the  virtues  of  Billy 
Bayhone.  Evidently  some  partisan  thought  he 
ought,  for  he  smote  him  on  the  thigh  with  the 
toe  of  his  boot  and  raised  such  a  stir  as  a  rude 
stranger  might  had  he  smitten  a  troubadour  in 
Arthur's  Court.  The  crowd  thickened  and 
surged,  and  four  of  the  Guard  emerged  with  the 
fiddler  and  his  assailant  under  arrest.  It  was  as 
though  the  Valley  were  a  sheet  of  water  straight- 
66 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAED 


way  and  the  fiddler  the  dropping  of  a  stone,  for 
the  ripple  of  mischief  started  in  every  direction. 
It  caught  two  mountaineers  on  the  edge  of  the 
crowd,  who  for  no  particular  reason  thumped 
each  other  with  their  huge  fists,  and  were  swiftly 
led  away  by  that  silent  Guard.  The  operation 
of  a  mysterious  force  was  in  the  air  and  it  puz- 
zled the  crowd.  Somewhere  a  whistle  would 
blow,  and,  from  this  point  and  that,  a  quiet,  well- 
dressed  young  man  would  start  swiftly  toward 
it.  The  crowd  got  restless  and  uneasy,  and,  by 
and  by,  experimental  and  defiant.  For  in  that 
crowd  was  the  spirit  of  Bunker  Hill  and  King's 
Mountain.  It  couldn't  fiddle  and  sing;  it  could- 
n't settle  its  little  troubles  after  the  good  old 
fashion  of  fist  and  skull;  it  couldn't  charge  up 
and  down  the  streets  on  horseback  if  it  pleased; 
it  couldn't  ride  over  those  puncheon  sidewalks;  it 
couldn't  drink  openly  and  without  shame;  and, 
Shades  of  the  American  Eagle  and  the  Stars  and 
Stripes,  it  couldn't  even  yell  No  wonder,  like 
the  heathen,  it  raged.  What  did  these  blanked 
"  furriners  "  have  against  them  anyhow?  They 
couldn't  run  their  country — not  much. 

Pretty  soon  there  came  a  shrill  whistle  far 
down-town  —  then  another  and  another.  It 
sounded  ominous,  indeed,  and  it  was,  being  a 
signal  of  distress  from  the  Infant  of  the  Guard, 
who  stood  before  the  door  of  Jack  Woods's 

67 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GTTABD 


saloon  with  his  pistol  levelled  on  Richards,  the 
tough  from  the  Pocket,  the  Infant,  standing 
there  with  blazing  eyes,  alone  and  in  the  heart 
of  a  gathering  storm. 

Now  the  chain  of  lawlessness  that  had  tight- 
ened was  curious  and  significant.  There  was 
the  tough  and  his  kind — lawless,  irresponsible 
and  possible  in  any  community.  There  was  the 
farm-hand  who  had  come  to  town  with  the  wild 
son  of  his  employer — an  honest,  law-abiding  far- 
mer. Came,  too,  a  friend  of  the  farmer  who 
had  not  yet  reaped  the  crop  of  wild  oats  sown 
in  his  youth.  Whiskey  ran  all  into  one  mould. 
The  farm-hand  drank  with  the  tough,  the  wild 
son  with  the  farm-hand,  and  the  three  drank  to- 
gether, and  got  the  farmer's  unregenerate  friend 
to  drink  with  them ;  and  he  and  the  law-abiding 
farmer  himself,  by  and  by,  took  a  drink  for  old 
time's  sake.  Now  the  cardinal  command  of  ru- 
ral and  municipal  districts  all  through  the  South 
is,  "  Forsake  not  your  friend  " :  and  it  does  not 
take  whiskey  long  to  make  friends.  Jack  Woods 
had  given  the  tough  from  the  Pocket  a  whistle. 

"  You  dassen't  blow  it,"  said  he. 

Richards  asked  why,  and  Jack  told  him. 
Straightway  the  tough  blew  the  whistle,  and 
when  the  little  colonel  ran  down  to  arrest  him 
he  laughed  and  resisted,  and  the  wild  son  and 
the  farm-hand  and  Jack  Woods  showed  an 
68 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GTJAED 


inclination  to  take  his  part.  So,  holding  his 
"  drop  "  on  the  tough  with  one  hand,  the  Infant 
blew  vigorously  for  help  with  the  other. 

Logan,  the  captain,  arrived  first — he  usually 
arrived  first — and  Gordon,  the  sergeant,  was  by 
his  side — Gordon  was  always  by  his  side.  He 
would  have  stormed  a  battery  if  the  captain  had 
led  him,  and  the  captain  would  have  led  him — 
alone — if  he  thought  it  was  his  duty.  Logan 
was  as  calm  as  a  stage  hero  at  the  crisis  of  a 
play.    The  crowd  had  pressed  close. 

"  Take  that  man,"  he  said  sharply,  pointing 
to  the  tough  whom  the  colonel  held  covered,  and 
two  men  seized  him  from  behind. 

The  farm-hand  drew  his  gun. 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  he  shouted. 

"  Take  htm,"  said  the  captain  quietly;  and  he 
was  seized  by  two  more  and  disarmed. 

It  was  then  that  Sturgeon,  the  wild  son, 
ran  up. 

"  You  can't  take  that  man  to  jail,"  he  shouted 
with  an  oath,  pointing  at  the  farm-hand. 

The  captain  waved  his  hand.  "  And  him!  91 
As  two  of  the  Guard  approached,  Sturgeon 
started  for  his  gun.  Now,  Sturgeon  was  Gor- 
don's blood  cousin,  but  Gordon  levelled  his  own 
pistol.  Sturgeon's  weapon  caught  in  his  pocket, 
and  he  tried  to  pull  it  loose.  The  moment  he 
succeeded  Gordon  stood  ready  to  fire.  Twice 

69 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAKD 


the  hammer  of  the  sergeant's  pistol  went  back 
almost  to  the  turning-point,  and  then,  as  he 
pulled  the  trigger  again,  Macfarlan,  first  lieuten- 
ant, who  once  played  lacrosse  at  Yale,  rushed, 
parting  the  crowd  right  and  left,  and  dropped 
his  billy  lightly  three  times — right,  left  and  right 
— on  Sturgeon's  head.  The  blood  spurted,  the 
head  fell  back  between  the  bully's  shoulders,  his 
grasp  on  his  pistol  loosened,  and  he  sank  to  his 
knees.  For  a  moment  the  crowd  was  stunned  by 
the  lightning  quickness  of  it  all.  It  was  the  first 
blow  ever  struck  in  that  country  with  a  piece  of 
wood  in  the  name  of  the  law. 

"  Take  'em  on,  boys,"  called  the  captain, 
whose  face  had  paled  a  little,  though  he  seemed 
as  cool  as  ever. 

And  the  boys  started,  dragging  the  three 
struggling  prisoners,  and  the  crowd,  growing 
angrier  and  angrier,  pressed  close  behind,  a  hun- 
dred of  them,  led  by  the  farmer  himself,  a  giant 
in  size,  and  beside  himself  with  rage  and  hu- 
miliation. Once  he  broke  through  the  guard 
line  and  was  pushed  back.  Knives  and  pistols 
began  to  flash  now  everywhere,  and  loud  threats 
and  curses  rose  on  all  sides- — the  men  should  not 
be  taken  to  jail.  The  sergeant,  dragging  Stur- 
geon, looked  up  into  the  blazing  eyes  of  a  girl 
on  the  sidewalk,  Sturgeon's  sister — the  maid 
from  Lee.  The  sergeant  groaned.  Logan  gave 
70 


A  CEISIS  FOK  THE  GUAED 


some  order  just  then  to  the  Infant,  who  ran 
ahead,  and  by  the  time  the  Guard  with  the  pris- 
oners had  backed  to  a  corner  there  were  two  lines 
of  Guards  drawn  across  the  street.  The  first 
line  let  the  prisoners  and  their  captors  through, 
closed  up  behind,  and  backed  slowly  towards  the 
corner,  where  it  meant  to  stand. 

It  was  very  exciting  there.  Winchesters  and 
shotguns  protruded  from  the  line  threateningly, 
but  the  mob  came  on  as  though  it  were  going  to 
press  through,  and  determined  faces  blenched 
with  excitement,  but  not  with  fear. ,  A  moment 
later,  the  little  colonel  and  the  Guards  on  either 
side  of  him  were  jabbing  at  men  with  cocked 
Winchesters.  At  that  moment  it  would  have 
needed  but  one  shot  to  ring  out  to  have  started 
an  awful  carnage ;  but  not  yet  wTas  there  a  man 
in  the  mob — and  that  is  the  trouble  with  mobs — 
wTho  seemed  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice  of  him- 
self that  the  others  might  gain  their  end.  For 
one  moment  they  halted,  cursing  and  waving 
their  pistols,  preparing  for  a  charge ;  and  in  that 
crucial  moment  the  tutor  from  New  England 
came  like  a  thunderbolt  to  the  rescue.  Shrieks 
of  terror  from  children,  shrieks  of  outraged 
modesty  from  women,  rent  the  air  down  the 
street  where  the  huddled  crowd  was  rushing 
right  and  left  in  wild  confusion,  and,  through 
the  parting  crowd,  the  tutor  flew  into  sight  on 

71 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUARD 

horseback,  bareheaded,  barefooted,  clad  in  a 
gaudily  striped  bathing  suit,  with  his  saddle- 
pockets  flapping  behind  him  like  wings.  Some 
mischievous  mountaineers,  seeing  him  in  his 
bathing  suit  on  the  point  of  a  rock  up  the  river, 
had  joyously  taken  a  pot-shot  or  two  at  him,  and 
the  tutor  had  mounted  his  horse  and  fled.  But 
he  came  as  welcome  and  as  effective  as  an  emis- 
sary straight  from  the  God  of  Battles,  though 
he  came  against  his  will,  for  his  old  nag  was 
frantic  and  was  running  away.  Men,  women 
and  children  parted  before  him,  and  gaping 
mouths  widened  as  he  passed.  The  impulse  of 
the  crowd  ran  faster  than  his  horse,  and  even 
the  enraged  mountaineers  in  amazed  wonder 
sprang  out  of  his  way,  and,  far  in  the  rear,  a  few 
privileged  ones  saw  the  frantic  horse  plunge  to- 
wards his  stable,  stop  suddenly,  and  pitch  his 
mottled  rider  through  the  door  and  mercifully 
out  of  sight.  Human  purpose  must  give  way 
when  a  pure  miracle  comes  to  earth  to  baffle  it. 
It  gave  way  now  long  enough  to  let  the  oaken 
doors  of  the  calaboose  close  behind  tough,  farm- 
hand, and  the  farmer's  wild  son.  The  line  of 
Winchesters  at  the  corner  quietly  gave  way« 
The  power  of  the  Guard  was  established,  the 
backbone  of  the  opposition  broken;  henceforth, 
the  work  for  law  and  order  was  to  be  easy  com- 
pared with  what  it  had  been.  Up  at  the  big 
72 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUAED 


spring  under  the  beeches  sat  the  disgusted  ora- 
tor of  the  day  and  the  disgusted  Senator,  who, 
seriously,  was  quite  sure  that  the  Guard,  being 
composed  of  Democrats,  had  taken  this  way  to 
shatter  his  campaign. 

Next  morning,  in  court,  the  members  of  the 
Guard  acted  as  witnesses  against  the  culprits. 
Macfarlan  stated  that  he  had  struck  Sturgeon 
over  the  head  to  save  his  life,  and  Sturgeon, 
after  he  had  paid  his  fine,  said  he  would  prefer 
being  shot  to  being  clubbed  to  death,  and  he  bore 
dangerous  malice  for  a  long  time,  until  he 
learned  what  everybody  else  knew,  that  Macfar- 
lan always  did  what  he  thought  he  ought,  and 
never  spoke  anything  but  the  literal  truth, 
whether  it  hurt  friend,  foe  or  himself. 

After  court,  Richards,  the  tough,  met  Gordon, 
the  sergeant,  in  the  road.  "  Gordon,"  he  said, 
"  you  swore  to  a  lie  about  me  a  while  ago." 

"  How  do  you  want  to  fight?  "  asked  Gordon. 

"Fair!" 

"  Gome  on";  and  Gordon  started  for  the 
vown  limits  across  the  river,  Richards  following 
on  horseback.  At  a  store,  Gordon  unbuckled 
his  belt  and  tossed  his  pistol  and  his  police  badge 
inside.  Jack  Woods,  seeing  this,  followed,  and 
the  Infant,  seeing  Woods,  followed  too.  The 
law  was  law,  but  this  affair  was  personal, 

73 


A  CEISIS  FOR  THE  GUARD 


and  would  be  settled  without  the  limits  of  law 
and  local  obligation.  Richards  tried  to  talk 
to  Gordon,  but  the  sergeant  walked  with  his 
head  down,  as  though  he  could  not  hear — he 
was  too  enraged  to  talk. 

While  Richards  was  hitching  his  horse  in  the 
bushes  the  sergeant  stood  on  the  bank  of  the 
river  with  his  arms  folded  and  his  chin  swinging 
from  side  to  side.  When  he  saw  Richards  in 
the  open  he  rushed  for  him  like  a  young  bull 
that  feels  the  first  swelling  of  his  horns.  It  was 
not  a  fair,  stand-up,  knock-down  English  fight, 
but  a  Scotch  tussle,  in  which  either  could  strike., 
kick,  bite  or  gouge.  After  a  few  blows  they 
clinched  and  whirled  and  fell,  Gordon  on  top — 
with  which  advantage  he  began  to  pound  the 
tough  from  the  Pocket  savagely.  Woods  made 
as  if  to  pull  him  off,  but  the  Infant  drew  his 
pistol.    "Keep  off!" 

"  He's  killing  him !  "  shouted  Woods,  halting. 

"  Let  him  holler  4  Enough/  then,"  said  th* 
Infant. 

"  He's  killing  him !  "  shouted  Woods. 

"  Let  Gordon's  friends  take  him  off,  then," 
said  the  Infant.    "  Don't  you  touch  him." 

And  it  was  done.  Richards  was  senseless  and 
speechless — he  really  couldn't  shout  "  Enough." 
But  he  was  content,  and  the  day  left  a  very  sat- 
isfactory impression  on  him  and  on  his  friends. 
74 


A  CEISIS  FOE  THE  GUARD 


If  they  misbehaved  in  town  they  would  be  ar- 
rested: that  was  plain.  But  it  was  also  plain 
that  if  anybody  had  a  personal  grievance  against 
one  of  the  Guard  he  could  call  him  out  of  the 
town  limits  and  get  satisfaction,  after  the  way  of 
his  fathers.  There  was  nothing  personal  at  all 
in  the  attitude  of  the  Guard  towards  the  out- 
siders; which  recognition  was  a  great  stride  to- 
ward mutual  understanding  and  final  high  re- 
gard. 

All  that  day  I  saw  that  something  was  troub- 
ling the  tutor  from  New  England.  It  was  the 
Moral  Sense  of  the  Puritan  at  work,  I  supposed, 
and,  that  night,  when  I  came  in  with  a  new  sup- 
ply of  11  billies  "  and  gave  one  to  each  of  my 
brothers,  the  tutor  looked  up  over  his  glasses  and 
cleared  his  throat. 

M  Now,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  we  shall  catch  it 
hot  on  the  savagery  of  the  South  and  the  bar- 
barous Method  of  keeping  it  down  " ;  but  before 
he  had  said  three  words  the  colonel  looked  as 
though  he  were  going  to  get  up  and  slap  the  lit- 
tle dignitary  on  the  back — which  would  have 
created  a  sensation  indeed. 

"  Have  you  an  extra  one  of  those — those 
 ?j 

"  Billies?  "  I  said,  wonderingly. 
"  Yes.    I — I  believe  I  shall  join  the  Guard 
myself,"  said  the  tutor  from  New  England. 

75 


CHRISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


NO  night  was  this  in  Hades  with  solemn- 
eyed  Dante,  for  Satan  was  only  a  woolly 
little  black  dog,  and  surely  no  dog  was  ever  more 
absurdly  misnamed.  When  Uncle  Carey  first 
heard  that  name,  he  asked  gravely: 

"Why,   Dinnie,   where   in   h-  Uncle 

Carey  gulped  slightly,  "did  you  get  him?" 
And  Dinnie  laughed  merrily,  for  she  saw  the  fun 
of  the  question,  and  shook  her  black  curls. 
11  He  didn't  come  f'um  that  place." 
Distinctly  Satan  had  not  come  from  that 
place.  On  the  contrary,  he  might  by  a  miracle 
have  dropped  straight  from  some  Happy  Hunt- 
ing-ground, for  all  the  signs  he  gave  of  having 
touched  pitch  in  this  or  another  sphere.  Noth- 
ing human  was  ever  born  that  was  gentler,  mer- 
rier, more  trusting  or  more  lovable  than  Satan. 
That  was  why  Uncle  Carey  said  again  gravely 
that  he  could  hardly  tell  Satan  and  his  little  mis- 
tress apart.  He  rarely  saw  them  apart,  and  as 
both  had  black  tangled  hair  and  bright  black 
eyes;  as  one  awoke  even*  morning  with  a  happy 
smile  and  the  other  with  a  jolly  bark;  as  thev 

76 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


played  all  day  like  wind-shaken  shadows  and 
each  won  every  heart  at  first  sight — the  likeness 
was  really  rather  curious.  I  have  always  be- 
lieved that  Satan  made  the  spirit  of  Dinnie's 
house,  orthodox  and  severe  though  it  was,  al- 
most kindly  toward  his  great  namesake.  I  know 
I  have  never  been  able,  since  I  knew  little  Satan, 
to  think  old  Satan  as  bad  as  I  once  painted  him, 
though  I  am  sure  the  little  dog  had  many  pretty 
tricks  that  the  "  old  boy  "  doubtless  has  never 
used  in  order  to  amuse  his  friends. 

u  Shut  the  door,  Saty,  please."  Dinnie  would 
say,  precisely  as  she  would  say  it  to  Uncle  Billy, 
the  butler,  and  straightway  Satan  would  launch 
himself  at  it — bang !  He  never  would  learn  to 
close  it  softly,  for  Satan  liked  that — bang ! 

If  you  kept  tossing  a  coin  or  marble  in  the  air, 
Satan  would  keep  catching  it  and  putting  it  back 
in  your  hand  for  another  throw,  till  you  got 
tired.  Then  he  would  drop  it  on  a  piece  of  rag 
carpet,  snatch  the  carpet  with  his  teeth,  throw 
the  coin  across  the  room  and  rush  for  it  like  mad, 
until  he  got  tired.  If  you  put  a  penny  on  his 
nose,  he  would  wait  until  you  counted,  one — two 
— three!  Then  he  would  toss  it  up  himself  and 
catch  it.  Thus,  perhaps,  Satan  grew  to  love 
Mammon  right  well,  but  for  another  and  better 
reason  than  that  he  liked  simply  to  throw  it 
around — as  shall  now  be  made  plain. 

77 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 

A  rubber  ball  with  a  hole  in  it  was  his  favor- 
ite plaything,  and  he  would  take  it  in  his  mouth 
and  rush  around  the  house  like  a  child,  squeezing 
it  to  make  it  whistle.  When  he  got  a  new  ball, 
he  would  hide  his  old  one  away  until  the  new 
one  was  the  worse  worn  of  the  two,  and  then  he 
would  bring  out  the  old  one  again.  If  Dinnie 
gave  him  a  nickel  or  a  dime,  when  they  went 
down-town,  Satan  would  rush  into  a  store,  rear 
up  on  the  counter  where  the  rubber  balls  were 
kept,  drop  the  coin,  and  get  a  ball  for  himself. 
Thus,  Satan  learned  finance.  He  began  to  hoard 
his  pennies,  and  one  day  Uncle  Carey  found  a 
pile  of  seventeen  under  a  corner  of  the  carpet. 
Usually  he  carried  to  Dinnie  all  coins  that  he 
found  in  the  street,  but  he  showed  one  day  that 
he  was  going  into  the  ball-business  for  himself. 
Uncle  Carey  had  given  Dinnie  a  nickel  for  some 
candy,  and,  as  usual,  Satan  trotted  down  the 
street  behind  her.  As  usual,  Satan  stopped  be- 
fore the  knick-knack  shop. 

"  Turn  on,  Saty,"  said  Dinnie.  Satan  reared 
against  the  door  as  he  always  did,  and  Dinnie 
said  again: 

"  Turn  on,  Saty."  As  usual,  Satan  dropped 
to  his  haunches,  but  what  was  unusual,  he  failed 
to  bark.  Now  Dinnie  had  got  a  new  ball  for 
Satan  only  that  morning,  so  Dinnie  stamped  her 
foot* 

78 


Satan  would  drop  the  coin  and  get  a  ball  for  himself. 


CHKISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


"  I  tell  you  to  turn  on,  Saty."  Satan  never 
moved.  He  looked  at  Dinnie  as  much  as  to 
say: 

"  I  have  never  disobeyed  you  before,  little 
mistress,  but  this  time  I  have  an  excellent  reason 
for  what  must  seem  to  you  very  bad  manners — " 
and  being  a  gentleman  withal,  Satan  rose  on  his 
haunches  and  begged. 

"You're  des  a  pig,  Saty,"  said  Dinnie,  but 
with  a  sigh  for  the  candy  that  was  not  to  be, 
Dinnie  opened  the  door,  and  Satan,  to  her  won- 
der, rushed  to  the  counter,  put  his  forepaws  on 
it,  and  dropped  from  his  mouth  a  dime.  Satan 
had  found  that  coin  on  the  street.  He  didn't 
bark  for  change,  nor  beg  for  two  balls,  but  he 
had  got  it  in  his  woolly  little  head,  somehow, 
that  in  that  store  a  coin  meant  a  ball,  though 
never  before  nor  afterward  did  he  try  to  get  a 
ball  for  a  penny. 

Satan  slept  in  Uncle  Carey's  room,  for  of  all 
people,  after  Dinnie,  Satan  loved  Uncle  Carey 
best.  Every  day  at  noon  he  would  go  to  an  up- 
stairs window  and  watch  the  cars  come  around 
the  corner,  until  a  very  tall,  square-shouldered 
young  man  swung  to  the  ground,  and  down 
Satan  would  scamper- — yelping — to  meet  him  at 
the  gate.  If  Uncle  Carey,  after  supper  and 
when  Dinnie  was  in  bed,  started  out  of  the  house, 
still  in  his  business  clothes,  Satan  would  leap  out 

79 


CHRISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SA^AN 

before  him,  knowing  that  he  too  might  be  al- 
lowed to  go ;  but  if  Uncle  Carey  had  put  on  black 
clothes  that  showed  a  big,  dazzling  shirt-front, 
and  picked  up  his  high  hat,  Satan  would  sit  per- 
fectly still  and  look  disconsolate;  for  as  there 
were  no  parties  or  theatres  for  Dinnie,  so  there 
were  none  for  him.  But  no  matter  how  late 
it  was  when  Uncle  Carey  came  home,  he  always 
saw  Satan's  little  black  nose  against  the  window- 
pane  and  heard  his  bark  of  welcome. 

After  intelligence,  Satan's  chief  trait  was  lov- 
ableness — nobody  ever  knew  him  to  fight,  to 
snap  at  anything,  or  to  get  angry;  after  lovable- 
ness,  it  was  politeness.  If  he  wanted  something 
to  eat,  if  he  wanted  Dinnie  to  go  to  bed,  if  he 
wanted  to  get  out  of  the  door,  he  would  beg — 
beg  prettily  on  his  haunches,  his  little  red  tongue 
out  and  his  funny  little  paws  hanging  loosely. 
Indeed,  it  was  just  because  Satan  was  so  little 
less  than  human,  I  suppose,  that  old  Satan  began 
to  be  afraid  he  might  have  a  soul.  So  the 
wicked  old  namesake  with  the  Hoofs  and  Horns 
laid  a  trap  for  little  Satan,  and,  as  he  is  apt  to 
do,  he  began  laying  it  early — long,  indeed,  be- 
fore Christmas. 

When  Dinnie  started  to  kindergarten  that  au- 
tumn, Satan  found  that  there  was  one  place 
where  he  could  never  go.  Like  the  lamb,  he 
could  not  go  to  school;  so  while  Dinnie  was 
80 


CHKISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


away,  Satan  began  to  make  friends.  He  would 
bark,  "  Howdy-do?  "  to  every  dog  that  passed 
his  gate.  Many  stopped  to  rub  noses  with  him 
through  the  fence — even  Hugo  the  mastiff,  and 
nearly  all,  indeed,  except  one  strange-looking 
dog  that  appeared  every  morning  at  precisely 
nine  o'clock  and  took  his  stand  on  the  corner. 
There  he  would  lie  patiently  until  a  funeral  came 
along,  and  then  Satan  would  see  him  take  his 
place  at  the  head  of  the  procession ;  and  thus  he 
would  march  out  to  the  cemetery  and  back  again. 
Nobody  knew  where  he  came  from  nor  where  he 
went,  and  Uncle  Carey  called  him  the  "  funeral 
dog  "  and  said  he  was  doubtless  looking  for  his 
dead  master.  Satan  even  made  friends  with  a 
scrawny  little  yellow  dog  that  followed  an  old 
drunkard  around — a  dog  that,  when  his  mas- 
ter fell  in  the  gutter,  would  go  and  catch  a  po- 
liceman by  the  coat-tail,  lead  the  officer  to  his 
helpless  master,  and  spend  the  night  with  him 
in  jail. 

By  and  by  Satan  began  to  slip  out  of  the  house 
at  night,  and  Uncle  Billy  said  he  reckoned  Satan 
had  "  jined  de  club  and  late  one  night,  when 
he  had  not  come  in,  Uncle  Billy  told  Uncle 
Carey  that  it  was  "  powerful  slippery  and  he 
reckoned  they'd  better  send  de  kerridge  after 
him  — an  innocent  remark  that  made  Uncle 
Carey  send  a  boot  after  the  old  butler,  who  fled 
81 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


chuckling  down  the  stairs,  and  left  Uncle  Carey 
chuckling  in  his  room. 

Satan  had  "  jined  de  club  " — the  big  club — 
and  no  dog  was  too  lowly  in  Satan's  eyes  for 
admission;  for  no  priest  ever  preached  the 
brotherhood  of  man  better  than  Satan  lived  it — 
both  with  man  and  dog.  And  thus  he  lived  it 
that  Christmas  night — to  his  sorrow. 

Christmas  Eve  had  been  gloomy — the  gloom- 
iest of  Satan's  life.  Uncle  Carey  had  gone  to  a 
neighboring  town  at  noon,  Satan  had  followed 
him  down  to  the  station,  and  when  the  train 
started,  Uncle  Carey  had  ordered  him  to  go 
home.  Satan  took  his  time  about  going 
home,  not  knowing  it  was  Christmas  Eve.  He 
found  strange  things  happening  to  dogs  that 
day.  The  truth  was,  that  policemen  were 
shooting  all  dogs  found  that  were  without  a 
collar  and  a  license,  and  every  now  and  then  a 
bang  and  a  howl  somewhere  would  stop  Satan 
in  his  tracks.  At  a  little  yellow  house  on  the 
edge  of  toWn  he  saw  half  a  dozen  strange  dogs 
in  a  kennel,  and  every  now  and  then  a  negro 
would  lead  a  new  one  up  to  the  house  and  deliver 
him  to  a  big  man  at  the  door,  who,  in  return, 
would  drop  something  into  the  negro's  hand. 
While  Satan  waited,  the  old  drunkard  came 
along  with  his  little  dog  at  his  heels,  paused  be- 
fore the  door,  looked  a  moment  at  his  faithful 
82 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


follower,  and  went  slowly  on.  Satan  little  knew 
the  old  drunkard's  temptation,  for  in  that  yellow 
house  kind-hearted  people  had  offered  fifteen 
cents  for  each  dog  brought  to  them,  without  a 
license,  that  they  might  mercifully  put  it  to 
death,  and  fifteen  cents  was  the  precise  price  for 
a  drink  of  good  whiskey.  Just  then  there  was 
another  bang  and  another  howl  somewhere,  and 
Satan  trotted  home  to  meet  a  calamity.  Dinnie 
was  gone.  Her  mother  had  taken  her  out  in 
the  country  to  Grandmother  Dean's  to  spend 
Christmas,  as  was  the  family  custom,  and  Mrs. 
Dean  would  not  wait  any  longer  for  Satan;  so 
she  told  Uncle  Billy  to  bring  him  out  after  sup- 
per. 

"  Ain't  you  'shamed  o'  yo'self — suh — ?  "  said 
the  old  butler,  "  keepin'  me  from  ketchin'  Christ- 
mas gifts  dis  day?  " 

Uncle  Billy  was  indignant,  for  the  negroes  be- 
gin at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  of  Christmas 
Eve  to  slip  around  corners  and  jump  from  hid- 
ing places  to  shout  "  Christmas  Gif — Christmas 
Gif '  " ;  and  the  one  who  shouts  first  gets  a  gift. 
No  wonder  it  was  gloomy  for  Satan — Uncle 
Carey,  Dinnie,  and  all  gone,  and  not  a  soul  but 
Uncle  Billy  in  the  big  house.  Every  few  min- 
utes he  would  trot  on  his  little  black  legs  up- 
stairs and  downstairs,  looking  for  his  mistress. 
As  dusk  came  on,  he  would  every  now  and  then 

83 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 

howl  plaintively.  After  begging  his  supper,  and 
while  Uncle  Billy  was  hitching  up  a  horse  in  the 
stable,  Satan  went  out  in  the  yard  and  lay  with 
his  nose  between  the  close  panels  of  the  fence — - 
quite  heart-broken.  When  he  saw  his  old  friend, 
Hugo,  the  mastiff,  trotting  into  the  gaslight,  he 
began  to  bark  his  delight  frantically.  The  big 
mastiff  stopped  and  nosed  his  sympathy  through 
the  fence  for  a  moment  and  walked  slowly  on, 
Satan  frisking  and  barking  along  inside.  At  the 
gate  Hugo  stopped,  and  raising  one  huge  paw, 
playfully  struck  it.  The  gate  flew  open,  and 
with  a  happy  yelp  Satan  leaped  into  the  street. 
The  noble  mastiff  hesitated  as  though  this  were 
not  quite  regular.  He  did  not  belong  to  the 
club,  and  he  didn't  know  that  Satan  had  evei* 
been  away  from  home  after  dark  in  his  life.  For 
a  moment  he  seemed  to  wait  for  Dinnie  to  call 
him  back  as  she  always  did,  but  this  time  there 
was  no  sound,  and  Hugo  walked  majestically  on, 
with  absurd  little  Satan  running  in  a  circle  about 
him.  On  the  way  they  met  the  "  funeral  dog," 
who  glanced  inquiringly  at  Satan,  shied  from 
the  mastiff,  and  trotted  on.  On  the  next  block 
the  old  drunkard's  yellow  cur  ran  across  the 
street,  and  after  interchanging  the  compliments 
of  the  season,  ran  back  after  his  staggering  mas- 
ter. As  they  approached  the  railroad  track  a 
strange  dog  joined  them,  to  whom  Hugo  paid 

84 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


no  attention.  At  the  crossing  another  new  ac- 
quaintance bounded  toward  them.  This  one — 
a  half-breed  shepherd — was  quite  friendly,  and 
he  received  Satan's  advances  with  affable  conde- 
scension. Then  another  came  and  another,  and 
little  Satan's  head  got  quite  confused.  They 
were  a  queer-looking  lot  of  curs  and  half-breeds 
from  the  negro  settlement  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods,  and  though  Satan  had  little  experience, 
his  instincts  told  him  that  all  was  not  as  it  should 
be,  and  had  he  been  human  he  would  have  won- 
dered very  much  how  they  had  escaped  the  car- 
nage that  day.  Uneasy,  he  looked  around  for 
Hugo;  but  Hugo  had  disappeared.  Once  or 
twice  Hugo  had  looked  around  for  Satan,  and 
Satan  paying  no  attention,  the  mastiff  trotted  on 
home  in  disgust.  Just  then  a  powerful  yellow 
cur  sprang  out  of  the  darkness  over  the  railroad 
track,  and  Satan  sprang  to  meet  him,  and  so 
nearly  had  the  life  scared  out  of  him  by  the  snarl 
and  flashing  fangs  of  the  new-comer  that  he 
hardly  had  the  strength  to  shrink  back  behind 
his  new  friend,  the  half-breed  shepherd. 

A  strange  thing  then  happened.  The  other 
dogs  became  suddenly  quiet,  and  every  eye  was 
on  the  yellow  cur.  He  sniffed  the  air  once  or 
twice,  gave  two  or  three  peculiar  low  growls,  and 
all  those  dogs  except  Satan  lost  the  civilization 
of  centuries  and  went  back  suddenly  to  the  time 

85 


CHRISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


when  they  were  wolves  and  were  looking  for  a 
leader.  The  cur  was  Lobo  for  that  little  pack, 
and  after  a  short  parley,  he  lifted  his  nose  high 
and  started  away  without  looking  back,  while  the 
other  dogs  silently  trotted  after  him.  With  a 
mystified  yelp,  Satan  ran  after  them.  The  cur 
did  not  take  the  turnpike,  but  jumped  the  fence 
into  a  field,  making  his  way  by  the  rear  of  houses, 
from  which  now  and  then  another  dog  would 
slink  out  and  silently  join  the  band.  Every  one 
of  them  Satan  nosed  most  friendlily,  and  to  his 
great  joy  the  funeral  dog,  on  the  edge  of  the 
town,  leaped  into  their  midst.  Ten  minutes 
later  the  cur  stopped  in  the  midst  of  some  woods, 
as  though  he  would  inspect  his  followers.  Plain- 
ly, he  disapproved  of  Satan,  and  Satan  kept  out 
of  his  way.  Then  he  sprang  into  the  turnpike 
and  the  band  trotted  down  it,  under  flying  black 
clouds  and  shifting  bands  of  brilliant  moonlight. 
Once,  a  buggy  swept  past  them.  A  familiar 
odor  struck  Satan's  nose,  and  he  stopped  for  a 
moment  to  smell  the  horse's  tracks;  and  right 
he  was,  too,  for  out  at  her  grandmother's  Dinnie 
refused  to  be  comforted,  and  in  that  buggy  wa« 
Uncle  Billy  going  back  to  town  after  him. 

Snow  was  falling.    It  was  a  great  lark  for 
Satan.    Once  or  twice,  as  he  trotted  along,  he 
had  to  bark  his  joy  aloud,  and  each  time  the  big 
cur  gave  him  such  a  fierce  growl  that  he  feared 
86 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 

thereafter  to  open  his  jaws.  But  he  was  happy 
for  all  that,  to  be  running  out  into  the  night  with 
such  a  lot  of  funny  friends  and  not  to  know  or 
care  where  he  was  going.  He  got  pretty  tired 
presently,  for  over  hill  and  down  hill  they  went, 
at  that  unceasing  trot,  trot,  trot !  Satan's  tongue 
began  to  hang  out.  Once  he  stopped  to  rest, 
but  the  loneliness  frightened  him  and  he  ran  on 
after  them  with  his  heart  almost  bursting.  He' 
was  about  to  lie  right  down  and  die,  when  the 
cur  stopped,  sniffed  the  air  once  or  twice,  and 
with  those  same  low  growls,  led  the  marauders 
through  a  rail  fence  into  the  woods,  and  lay 
quietly  down.  How  Satan  loved  that  soft,  thick 
grass,  all  snowy  that  it  was !  It  was  almost  as 
good  as  his  own  bed  at  home.  And  there  chey 
lay — how  long,  Satan  never  knew,  for  he  went 
to  sleep  and  dreamed  that  he  was  after  a  rat  in 
the  barn  at  home;  and  he  yelped  in  his  sleep, 
which  made  the  cur  lift  his  big  yellow  head  and 
show  his  fangs.  The  moving  of  the  half-breed 
shepherd  and  the  funeral  dog  waked  him  at  last, 
and  Satan  got  up.  Half  crouching,  the  cur  was 
leading  the  way  toward  the  dark,  still  woods  on 
top  of  the  hill,  over  which  the  Star  of  Bethle- 
hem was  lowly  sinking,  and  under  which  lay  a 
flock  of  the  gentle  creatures  that  seemed  to  have 
been  almost  sacred  to  the  Lord  of  that  Star. 
They  were  in  sore  need  of  a  watchful  shepherd 
87 


CHKISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


now.  Satan  was  stiff  and  chilled,  but  he  was 
rested  and  had  had  his  sleep,  and  he  was  just  as 
ready  for  fun  as  he  always  was.  He  didn't  un- 
derstand that  sneaking.  Why  they  didn't  all 
jump  and  race  and  bark  as  he  wanted  to,  he 
couldn't  see ;  but  he  was  too  polite  to  do  other- 
wise than  as  they  did,  and  so  he  sneaked  after 
them ;  and  one  would  have  thought  he  knew,  as 
well  as  the  rest,  the  hellish  mission  on  which  they 
were  bent. 

Out  of  the  woods  they  went,  across  a  little 
branch,  and  there  the  big  cur  lay  flat  again  in  the 
grass.  A  faint  bleat  came  from  the  hill-side  be- 
yond, where  Satan  could  see  another  woods — 
and  then  another  bleat,  and  another.  And  the 
cur  began  to  creep  again,  like  a  snake  in  the 
grass ;  and  the  others  crept  too,  and  little  Satan 
crept,  though  it  was  all  a  sad  mystery  to  him. 
Again  the  cur  lay  still,  but  only  long  enough  for 
Satan  to  see  curious,  fat,  white  shapes  above  him 
— and  then,  with  a  blood-curdling  growl,  the  big 
brute  dashed  forward.  Oh,  there  was  fun  in 
them  after  all !  Satan  barked  joyfully.  Those 
were  some  new  playmates — those  fat,  white, 
hairy  things  up  there;  and  Satan  was  amazed 
when,  with  frightened  snorts,  they  fled  in  every 
direction.  But  this  was  a  new  game,  perhaps, 
of  which  he  knew  nothing,  and  as  did  the  rest,  so 
did  Satan.  He  picked  out  one  of  the  white 
88 


CHKISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


things  and  fled  barking  after  it.  It  was  a  little 
fellow  that  he  was  after,  but  little  as  he  was,  Sa- 
tan might  never  have  caught  up,  had  not  the 
sheep  got  tangled  in  some  brush.  Satan  danced 
about  him  in  mad  glee,  giving  him  a  playful  nip 
at  his  wool  and  springing  back  to  give  him  an- 
other nip,  and  then  away  again.  Plainly,  he 
was  not  going  to  bite  back,  and  when  the  sheep 
struggled  itself  tired  and  sank  down  in  a  heap, 
Satan  came  close  and  licked  him,  and  as  he  was 
very  warm  and  woolly,  he  lay  down  and  snug- 
gled up  against  him  for  awhile,  listening  to  the 
turmoil  that  was  going  on  around  him.  And 
as  he  listened,  he  got  frightened. 

If  this  was  a  new  game  it  was  certainly  a  very 
peculiar  one — the  wild  rush,  the  bleats  of  ter- 
ror, gasps  of  agony,  and  the  fiendish  growls  of 
attack  and  the  sounds  of  ravenous  gluttony. 
With  every  hair  bristling,  Satan  rose  and  sprang 
from  the  woods — and  stopped  with  a  fierce  ting- 
ling of  the  nerves  that  brought  him  horror  and 
fascination.  One  of  the  white  shapes  lay  still 
before  him.  There  was  a  great  steaming  red 
splotch  oa  the  snow,  and  a  strange  odor  in  the 
air  that  made  him  dizzy ;  but  only  for  a  moment. 
Another  white  shape  rushed  by.  A  tawny 
streak  followed,  and  then,  in  a  patch  of  moon- 
light, Satan  saw  the  yellow  cur  with  his  teeth 
fastened  in  the  throat  of  his  moaning  playmate, 

89 


CHBISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


Like  lightning  Satan  sprang  at  the  cur,  who 
tossed  him  ten  feet  away  and  went  back  to  his 
awful  work.  Again  Satan  leaped,  but  just  then 
a  shout  rose  behind  him,  and  the  cur  leaped  too 
as  though  a  bolt  of  lightning  had  crashed  over 
him,  and,  no  longer  noticing  Satan  or  sheep, 
began  to  quiver  with  fright  and  slink  away. 
Another  shout  rose  from  another  direction — 
another  from  another. 

"  Drive  'em  into  the  barn-yard!"  was  the 
cry. 

Now  and  then  there  was  a  fearful  bang  and  a 
howl  of  death-agony,  as  some  dog  tried  to  break 
through  the  encircling  men,  who  yelled  and 
cursed  as  they  closed  in  on  the  trembling  brutes 
that  slunk  together  and  crept  on ;  for  it  is  said, 
every  sheep-killing  dog  knows  his  fate  if  caught, 
and  will  make  little  effort  to  escape.  With  them 
we'4i  Satan,  through  the  barn-yard  gate,  where 
they  huddled  in  a  corner — a  shamed  and  terri- 
fied group.    A  tall  overseer  stood  at  the  gate. 

"  Ten  of  'em !  "  he  said  grimly. 

He  had  been  on  the  lookout  for  just  such  a 
tragedy,  for  there  had  recently  been  a  sheep-kill- 
ing raid  on  several  farms  in  that  neighborhood, 
and  for  several  nights  he  had  had  a  lantern  hung 
out  on  the  edge  of  the  woods  to  scare  the  dogs 
away;  but  a  drunken  farm-hand  had  neglected 
his  duty  that  Christmas  Eve. 

90 

/ 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


"  Yassuh,  an'  dey's  jus'  sebenteen  dead  sheep 
out  dar,"  said  a  negro. 

"  Look  at  the  little  one,"  said  a  tall  boy  who 
looked  like  the  overseer;  and  Satan  knew  that 
he  spoke  of  him. 

"  Go  back  to  the  house,  son,"  said  the  over- 
seer, "  and  tell  your  mother  to  give  you  a  Christ- 
mas present  I  got  for  you  yesterday."  With  a 
glad  whoop  the  boy  dashed  away,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment dashed  back  with  a  brand-new  .32  Win- 
chester in  his  hand. 

The  dark  hour  before  dawn  was  just  break- 
ing on  Christmas  Day.  It  was  the  hour  when 
Satan  usually  rushed  upstairs  to  see  if  his  little 
mistress  was  asleep.  If  he  were  only  at  home 
now,  and  if  he  only  had  known  how  his  little 
mistress  was  weeping  for  him  amid  her  play- 
things and  his — two  new  balls  and  a  brass- 
studded  collar  with  a  silver  plate  on  which  was 
his  name,  Satan  Dean;  and  if  Dinnie  could  have 
seen  him  now,  her  heart  would  have  broken ;  for 
the  tall  boy  raised  his  gun.  There  was  a  jet  of 
smoke,  a  sharp,  clean  crack,  and  the  funeral  dog 
started  on  the  right  way  at  last  toward  his  dead 
master.  Another  crack,  and  the  yellow  cur 
leaped  from  the  ground  and  fell  kicking.  An- 
other crack  and  another,  and  with  each  crack  a 
dog  tumbled,  until  little  Satan  sat  on  his 
haunches  amid  the  writhing  pack,  alone.  His 
9i 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN" 


time  was  now  come.  As  the  rifle  was  raised, 
he  heard  up  at  the  big  house  the  cries  of  chil- 
dren; the  popping  of  fire-crackers;  tooting  of 
horns  and  whistles  and  loud  shouts  of  "  Christ- 
mas Gif ',  Christmas  Gif !  "  His  little  heart 
beat  furiously.  Perhaps  he  knew  just  what  he 
was  doing;  perhaps  it  was  the  accident  of  habit; 
most  likely  Satan  simply  wanted  to  go  home — 
but  when  that  gun  rose,  Satan  rose  too,  on  his 
haunches,  his  tongue  out,  his  black  eyes  steady 
and  his  funny  little  paws  hanging  loosely — and 
begged !   The  boy  lowered  the  gun. 

"  Down,  sir!"  Satan  dropped  obediently, 
but  when  the  gun  was  lifted  again,  Satan  rose 
again,  and  again  he  begged. 

"  Down,  I  tell  you !  "  This  time  Satan  would 
not  down,  but  sat  begging  for  his  life.  The 
boy  turned. 

"  Papa,  I  can't  shoot  that  dog."  Perhaps 
Satan  had  reached  the  stern  old  overseer's  heart. 
Perhaps  he  remembered  suddenly  that  it  was 
Christmas.    At  any  rate,  he  said  gruffly: 

"  Well,  let  him  go." 

"  Come  here,  sir!  "  Satan  bounded  toward 
the  tall  boy,  frisking  and  trustful  and  begged 
again.  * 

"  Go  home,  sir!  " 

Satan  needed  no  second  command.  Without 
a  sound  he  fled  out  the  barn-yard,  and,  as  he 
92 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


swept  under  the  front  gate,  a  little  girl  ran  out 
of  the  front  door  of  the  big  house  and  dashed 
down  the  steps,  shrieking : 

"  Saty !  Saty !  Oh,  Saty !  "  But  Satan  never 
heard.  On  he  fled,  across  the  crisp  fields,  leapec 
the  fence  and  struck  the  road,  lickety-split !  f 01 
home,  while  Dinnie  dropped  sobbing  in  the 
snow. 

"  Hitch  up  a  horse,  quick,"  said  Uncle  Carey, 
rushing  after  Dinnie  and  taking  her  up  in  his 
arms.  Ten  minutes  later,  Uncle  Carey  and  Din- 
nie, both  warmly  bundled  up,  were  after  flying 
Satan.  They  never  caught  him  until  the} 
reached  the  hill  on  the  outskirts  of  town,  where 
was  the  kennel  of  the  kind-hearted  people  whc 
were  giving  painless  death  to  Satan's  four-footed 
kind,  and  where  they  saw  him  stop  and  turn 
from  the  road.  There  was  divine  providence 
in  Satan's  flight  for  one  little  dog  that  Christ- 
mas morning;  for  Uncle  Carey  saw  the  old 
drunkard  staggering  down  the  road  without 
his  little  companion,  and  a  moment  later,  both 
he  and  Dinnie  saw  Satan  nosing  a  little  yel- 
low cur  between  the  palings.  Uncle  Carey 
knew  the  little  cur,  and  while  Dinnie  was 
shrieking  for  Satan,  he  was  saying  under  his 
breath : 

"Well,   I   swear! — I  swear! — I  swear!" 
And  while  the  big  man  who  came  to  the  door 
93 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 


was  putting  Satan  into  Dinnie's  arms,  he  said, 
sharply : 

"  Who  brought  that  yellow  dog  here  ?  "  The 
man  pointed  to  the  old  drunkard's  figure  turning 
a  corner  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"  I  thought  so ;  I  thought  so.  He  sold  him  to 
you  for — for  a  drink  of  whiskey." 

The  man  whistled. 

"  Bring  him  out.    Til  pay  his  license." 

So  back  went  Satan  and  the  little  cur  to 
Grandmother  Dean's — and  Dinnie  cried  when 
Uncle  Carey  told  her  why  he  was  taking  the  lit- 
tle cur  along.  With  her  own  hands  she  put 
Satan's  old  collar  on  the  little  brute,  took  him 
to  the  kitchen,  and  fed  him  first  of  all.  Then 
she  went  into  the  breakfast-room. 

"  Uncle  Billy,"  she  said  severely,  "  didn't  1 
tell  you  not  to  let  Saty  out?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Dinnie,"  said  the  old  butler. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  goin'  to  whoop  you 
if  you  let  Saty  out?  " 

11  Yes,  Miss  Dinnie." 

Miss  Dinnie  pulled  forth  from  her  Christ- 
mas treasures  a  toy  riding-whip  and  the  old 
darky's  eyes  began  to  roll  in  mock  terror. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Uncle  Billy,  but  I  des  got  to 
whoop  you  a  little." 

"  Let  Uncle  Billy  off,  Dinnie,"  said  Uncle 
Carey,  "  this  is  Christmas." 

94 


CHEISTMAS  NIGHT  WITH  SATAN 

"  All  wite,"  said  Dinnie,  and  she  turned  to 
Satan. 

In  his  shining  new  collar  and  innocent  as  a 
cherub^  Satan  sat  on  the  hearth  begging  for  his 
breakfast. 


9S 


5S  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  M 


TO 

MY  BROTHER 
JAMES 


ON  HELL-FER-SARTAIN  CREEK 


THAR  was  a  dancin'-party  Christmas  night 
on  "  Hell  fer  Sartain."  Jes  tu'n  up  the 
fust  crick  beyond  the  bend  thar,  an'  climb  onto  a 
stump,  an'  holler  about  once,  an'  you'll  see  how 
the  name  come.  Stranger,  hit's  hell  fer  sartain ! 
Well,  Rich  Harp  was  thar  from  the  headwaters, 
an'  Harve  Hall  toted  Nance  Osborn  clean  across 
the  Cumberlan'.  Fust  one  ud  swing  Nance,  an' 
then  t'other.  Then  they'd  take  a  pull  out'n  the 
same  bottle  o'  moonshine,  an' — fust  one  an'  then 
t'other — they'd  swing  her  agin.  An'  Abe  Shiv- 
ers a-settin'  thar  by  the  fire  a-bitin'  his  thumbs ! 

Well,  things  was  sorter  whoopin',  when  some- 
body ups  an'  tells  Harve  that  Rich  had  said 
somep'n'  agin  Nance  an'  him,  an'  somebody  ups 
an'  tells  Rich  that  Harve  had  said  somep'n'  agin 
Nance  an'  him.  In  a  minute,  stranger,  hit  was 
like  two  wild-cats  in  thar.  Folks  got  'em  parted, 
though,  but  thar  was  no  more  a-swingin'  of 
Nance  that  night.  Harve  toted  her  back  over 
the  Cumberlan',  an'  Rich's  kinsfolks  tuk  him  up 
"  Hell  fer  Sartain  " ;  but  Rich  got  loose,  an'  lit 
out   lickety-split    fer   Nance    Osborn's.  He 

99 


ON  HELL-FER-SAKTAIN  CREEK 


knowed  Harve  lived  too  fer  over  Black  Moun- 
tain to  go  home  that  night,  an'  he  rid  right 
across  the  river  an'  up  to  Nance's  house,  an'  hol- 
lered for  Harve.  Harve  poked  his  head  out'n 
the  loft — he  knowed  whut  was  wanted — an' 
Harve  says,  "  Uh,  come  in  hyeh  an'  go  to  bed. 
Hit's  too  late !  "  An'  Rich  seed  him  a-gapin' 
like  a  chicken,  an'  in  he  walked,  stumblin'  might' 
nigh  agin  the  bed  whar  Nance  was  a-layin',  lis- 
tenin'  an'  not  sayin'  a  word. 

Stranger,  them  two  fellers  slept  together  plum 
frien'ly,  an'  they  et  together  plum  frien'ly  next 
mornin',  an'  they  sa'ntered  down  to  the  grocery 
plum  frien'ly.  An'  Rich  says,  "  Harve,"  says 
he,  "  let's  have  a  drink."  "  All  right,  Rich," 
says  Harve.  An'  Rich  says,  "  Harve,"  says 
he,  "  you  go  out'n  that  door  an'  I'll  go  out'n 
this  door."  "  All  right,  Rich,"  says  Harve,  an' 
out  they  walked,  steady,  an'  thar  was  two  shoots 
shot,  an'  Rich  an'  Harve  both  drapped,  an'  in 
ten  minutes  they  was  stretched  out  on  Nance's 
bed  an'  Nance  was  a-lopin'  away  fer  the  yarb 
doctor. 

The  gal  nussed  'em  both  plum  faithful.  Rich 
didn't  hev  much  to  say,  an'  Harve  didn't  hev 
much  to  say.  Nance  was  sorter  quiet,  an' 
Nance's  mammy,  ole  Nance,  jes  grinned.  Folks 
come  in  to  ax  atter  'em  right  peart.  Abe  Shiv- 
ers come  cl'ar  'cross  the  river — powerful  frien'ly 
ioo 


ON  HELL-FEK-SAKTAIN  CREEK 


« — an'  ever'  time  Nance  ud  walk  out  to  the  fence 
with  him.  One  time  she  didn't  come  back,  an' 
ole  Nance  fotched  the  boys  thar  dinner,  an'  ole 
Nance  fotched  thar  supper,  an'  then  Rich  he 
axed  whut  was  the  matter  with  young  Nance. 
An'  ole  Nance  jes  snorted.  Atter  a  while  Rich 
says:  "  Harve,"  says  he,  "  who  toF  you  that  I 
said  that  word  agin  you  an'  Nance  ?  "  "  Abe 
Shivers,"  says  Harve.  44  An'  who  toF  you," 
says  Harve,  "  that  I  said  that  word  agin  Nance 
an'  you?"  44  Abe  Shivers,"  says  Rich.  An' 
both  says,  44  Well,  damn  me !  "  An'  Rich  tu'ned 
right  over  an'  begun  pullin'  straws  out'n  the  bed. 
He  got  two  out,  an'  he  bit  one  off,  an'  he  says : 
44  Harve,"  says  he,  44 1  reckon  we  better  draw  fer 
him.  The  shortes'  gits  him."  An'  they  drawed. 
Well,  nobody  ever  knowed  which  got  the  short- 
es' straw,  stranger,  but  

Thar'll  be  a  dancin'-party  comin'  Christmas 
night  on  44  Hell  fer  Sartain."  Rich  Harp  '11  be 
thar  from  the  headwaters.  Harve  Hall's  a-goin' 
to  tote  the  Widder  Shivers  clean  across  the 
Cumberlan'.  Fust  one  '11  swing  Nance,  an'  then 
t'other.  Then  they'll  take  a  pull  out'n  the 
same  bottle  o'  moonshine,  an' — fust  one  an'  then 
t'other — they'll  swing  her  agin,  jes  the  same. 
Abe  won't  be  thar.  He's  a-settin'  by  a  bifc  jer 
fire,  I  reckon  (ef  he  ain't  in  it),  a-bitin*  his 
thumbs ! 

IOI 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 


WHEN  thistles  go  adrift,  the  sun  sets  down 
the  valley  between  the  hills ;  when  snow 
comes,  it  goes  down  behind  the  Cumberland  and 
streams  through  a  great  fissure  that  people  call 
the  Gap.  Then  the  last  light  drenches  the  par- 
son's cottage  under  Imboden  Hill,  and  leaves  an 
after-glow  of  glory  on  a  majestic  heap  that  lies 
against  the  east.  Sometimes  it  spans  the  Gap 
with  a  rainbow. 

Strange  people  and  strange  tales  come  through 
this  Gap  from  the  Kentucky  hills.  Through  it 
came  these  two,  late  one  day — a  man  and  a 
woman — afoot.  I  met  them  at  the  footbridge 
over  Roaring  Fork. 

"  Is  thar  a  preacher  anywhar  aroun'  hyeh?  " 
he  asked.  I  pointed  to  the  cottage  under  Imbo- 
den Hill.  The  girl  flushed  slightly  and  turned 
her  head  away  with  a  rather  unhappy  smile. 
Without  a  word,  the  mountaineer  led  the  way 
towards  town.  A  moment  more  and  a  half- 
breed  Malungian  passed  me  on  the  bridge  and 
followed  them. 

At  dusk  the  next  day  I  saw  the  mountaineer 
102 


THROUGH  THE  GAP 


chopping  wood  at  a  shanty  under  a  clump  of 
rhododendron  on  the  river-bank.  The  girl  was 
cooking  supper  inside.  The  day  following  he 
was  at  work  on  the  railroad,  and  on  Sunday, 
after  church,  I  saw  the  parson.  The  two  had 
not  been  to  him.  Only  that  afternoon  the  moun- 
taineer was  on  the  bridge  with  another  woman, 
hideously  rouged  and  with  scarlet  ribbons  flutter- 
ing from  her  bonnet.  Passing  on  by  the  shanty, 
I  saw  the  Malungian  talking  to  the  girl.  She 
apparently  paid  no  heed  to  him  until,  just  as  he 
was  moving  away,  he  said  something  mockingly, 
and  with  a  nod  of  his  head  back  towards  the 
bridge.  She  did  not  look  up  even  then,  but  her 
face  got  hard  and  white,  and,  looking  back  from 
the  road,  I  saw  her  slipping  through  the  bushes 
into  the  dry  bed  of  the  creek,  to  make  sure  that 
what  the  half-breed  told  her  was  true. 

The  two  men  were  working  side  by  side  on 
the  railroad  when  I  saw  them  again,  but  on  the 
first  pay-day  the  doctor  was  called  to  attend  the 
Malungian,  whose  head  was  split  open  with  a 
shovel.  I  was  one  of  two  who  went  out  to  ar- 
rest his  assailant,  and  I  had  no  need  to  ask  who 
he  was.  The  mountaineer  was  a  devil,  the  fore- 
man said,  and  I  had  to  club  him  with  a  pistol- 
butt  before  he  would  give  in.  He  said  he 
would  get  even  with  me;  but  they  all  say  that, 
and  I  paid  no  attention  to  the  threat  For  a 
103 


THEOUGH  THE  GAP 


week  he  was  kept  in  the  calaboose,  and  when  I 
passed  the  shanty  just  after  he  was  sent  to  the 
county-seat  for  trial,  I  found  it  empty.  The 
Malungian,  too,  was  gone.  Within  a  fortnight 
the  mountaineer  was  in  the  door  of  the  shanty 
again.  Having  no  accuser,  he  had  been  dis- 
charged. He  went  back  to  his  work,  and  if  he 
opened  his  lips  I  never  knew.  Every  day  I  saw 
him  at  work,  and  he  oever  failed  to  give  me  a 
surly  look.  Every  dusk  I  saw  him  in  his  door- 
way, waiting,  and  I  could  guess  for  what.  It 
was  easy  to  believe  that  the  stern  purpose  in  his 
face  would  make  its  way  through  space  and 
draw  her  to  him  again.  And  she  did  come  back 
one  day.  I  had  just  limped  down  the  mountain 
with  a  sprained  ankle.  A  crowd  of  women  was 
gathered  at  the  edge  of  the  woods,  looking  with 
all  their  eyes  to  the  shanty  on  the  river-bank. 
The  girl  stood  in  the  door-way.  The  mountain- 
eer was  coming  back  from  work  with  his  face 
down. 

"  He  hain't  seed  her  yit,"  said  one.  "  He's 
goin'  to  kill  her  shore.  I  tol'  her  he  would.  She 
said  she  reckoned  he  would,  but  she  didn't  keer." 

For  a  moment  I  was  paralyzed  by  the  tragedy 
at  hand.  She  was  in  the  door  looking  at  him 
when  he  raised  his  head.  For  one  moment  he 
stood  still,  staring,  and  then  he  started  towards 
her  with  a  quickened  step.  I  started  too,  then. 
104 


THEOUGH  THE  GAP 


every  step  a  torture,  and  as  I  limped  ahead  she 
made  a  gesture  of  terror  and  backed  into  the 
room  before  him.  The  door  closed,  and  I  lis- 
tened for  a  pistol-shot  and  a  scream.  It  must 
have  been  done  with  a  knife,  I  thought,  and 
quietly,  for  when  I  was  within  ten  paces  of  the 
cabin  he  opened  the  door  again.  His  face  was 
very  white;  he  held  one  hand  behind  him,  and 
he  was  nervously  fumbling  at  his  chin  with  the 
other.  As  he  stepped  towards  me  I  caught  the 
handle  of  a  pistol  in  my  side  pocket  and  waited. 
He  looked  at  me  sharply. 

"  Did  you  say  the  preacher  lived  up  thar?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  breathlessly. 

In  the  door-way  just  then  stood  the  girl  with 
a  bonnet  in  her  hand,  and  at  a  nod  from  him  they 
started  up  the  hill  towards  the  cottage.  They 
came  down  again  after  a  while,  he  stalking 
ahead,  and  she,  after  the  mountain  fashion,  be- 
hind. And  after  this  fashion  I  saw  them  at  sun- 
set next  day  pass  over  the  bridge  and  into  the 
mouth  of  the  Gap  whence  they  came.  Through 
this  Gap  come  strange  people  and  strange  tales 
from  the  Kentucky  hills.  Over  it,  sometimes,  is 
the  span  of  a  rainbow. 


105 


A  TRICK  O'  TRADE 


STRANGER,  I'm  a  separate  man,  an'  I 
don't  inquizlte  into  no  man's  business;  but 
you  ax  me  straight,  an'  I  tell  ye  straight:  You 
watch  ole  Tom  1 

Now,  I'll  take  ole  Tom  Perkins'  word  agin 
anybody's  'ceptin'  when  hit  comes  to  a  hoss 
trade  ur  a  piece  o'  land.  Fer  in  the  tricks  o' 
sech,  ole  Tom  'lows — well,  hit's  diff'ent;  an'  I 
reckon,  stranger,  as  how  hit  sorter  is.  He  was 
a-stayin'  at  Tom's  house,  the  furriner  was,  a- 
dickerin'  fer  a  piece  o'  lan' — the  same  piece, 
mebbe,  that  you're  atter  now — an'  Tom  keeps 
him  thar  fer  a  week  to  beat  him  out'n  a  dollar, 
an'  then  won't  let  him  pay  nary  a  cent  fer  his 
boa'd.    Now,  stranger,  that's  Tom. 

Well,  Abe  Shivers  was  a-workin'  fer  Tom — 
you've  heerd  tell  o'  Abe — an'  the  furriner  wasn't 
more'n  half  gone  afore  Tom  seed  that  Abe  was 
up  to  some  of  his  devilmint.  Abe  kin  hatch  up 
more  devilmint  in  a  minit  than  Satan  hisself  kin 
in  a  week;  so  Tom  jes  got  Abe  out'n  the  stable 
under  a  hoe-handle,  an'  tol1  him  to  tell  the  whole 
thing  straight  ur  he'd  have  to  go  to  glory  right 
thar.    An'  Abe  tol' ! 

106 


A  TEICK  0'  TKADE 


'Pears  like  Abe  had  foun'  a  streak  o'  iron  ore 
on  the  lan',  an'  had  racked  his  jinny  right  down 
to  Hazlan  an'  tol'  the  furriner,  who  was  thar 
a-buyin'  wild  lands  right  an'  left.  Co'se  Abe 
was  goin'  to  make  the  furriner  whack  up  fer 
gittin'  the  lan'  so  cheap.  Well,  brother,  the  fur- 
riner come  up  to  Tom's  an'  got  Tom  into  one 
o'  them  new-fangled  trades  whut  the  furriners 
calls  a  option — t'other  feller  kin  git  out'n  hit, 
but  you  can't.  The  furriner  'lowed  he'd  send  his 
podner  up  thar  next  day  to  put  the  thing  in 
writin'  an'  close  up  the  trade.  Hit  looked  like 
ole  Tom  was  ketched  fer  shore,  an'  ef  Tom  did- 
n't ra'r,  I'd  tell  a  man.  He  jes  let  that  hoe- 
handle  drap  on  Abe  fer  'bout  haffen  hour,  jes  to 
give  him  time  to  study,  an'  next  day  thar  was  ole 
Tom  a-settin'  on  his  orchard  fence  a-lookin' 
mighty  unknowin',  when  the  furriner's  podner 
come  a-prancin'  up  an'  axed  ef  old  Tom  Per- 
kins lived  thar. 

Ole  Tom  jes  whispers. 

Now,  I  clean  fergot  to  tell  ye,  stranger,  that 
Abe  Shivers  nuver  could  talk  out  loud.  He  tol' 
so  many  lies  that  the  Lawd — jes  to  make  things 
even — sorter  fixed  Abe,  I  reckon,  so  he  couldn't 
lie  on  more'n  one  side  o'  the  river  at  a  time.  Ole 
Tom  jes  knowed  t'other  furriner  had  tol'  this 
un  'bout  Abe,  an',  shore  'nough,  the  feller  says, 
sorter  soft,  says  he : 

107 


A  TEICK  0'  TEADE 


11  Aw,  you  air  the  feller  whut  foun'  the  ore?  11 

Ole  Tom — makin'  like  he  was  Abe,  mind  ye 
» — jes  whispers:  u  Thar  hain't  none  thar." 

Stranger,  the  feller  mos'  fell  off'n  his  hoss. 
"  Whut?  "  says  he.  Ole  Tom  kep'  a-whisper- 
in' :  "  Thar  hain't  no  ore — no  nothing;  ole  Tom 
Perkins  made  me  tell  t'other  furriner  them  lies." 

Well,  sir,  the  feller  was  mad.  "  Jes  whut  1 
tol'  that  fool  podner  of  mine,"  he  says,  an'  he 
pull  out  a  dollar  an'  gives  hit  to  Tom.  Tom 
jes  sticks  out  his  han'  with  his  thum'  turned  in 
jes  so,  an'  the  furriner  says,  "  Well,  ef  you  can't 
talk,  you  kin  make  purty  damn  good  signs"; 
but  he  forks  over  four  mo'  dollars  (he  'lowed 
ole  Tom  had  saved  him  a  pile  o'  money),  an' 
turns  his  hoss  an'  pulls  up  agin.  He  was  a-gittin' 
the  land  so  durned  cheap  that  I  reckon  he  jes 
hated  to  let  hit  go,  an'  he  says,  says  he:  "  Well, 
hain't  the  groun'  rich?  Won't  hit  raise  no  to- 
baccy  nur  corn  nur  nothin'  ?  " 

Ole  Tom  jes  whispers: 

"  To  tell  you  the  p'int-blank  truth,  stranger, 
that  land's  so  durned  pore  that  I  hain't  nuver 
been  able  to  raise  my  voice." 

Now,  brother,  I'm  a  separate  man,  an'  I  don't 
inqiiizite  into  no  man's  business — but  you  ax  me 
straight  an'  I  tell  ye  straight.  Ole  Tom  Per- 
kins kin  trade  with  furriners,  fer  he  have  l'arned 
their  ways.    You  watch  ole  Tom ! 

108 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 


THE  first  snow  sifted  in  through  the  Gap 
that  night,  and  in  a  "  shack  "  of  one  room 
and  a  low  loft  a  man  was  dead,  a  woman  was 
sick  to  death,  and  four  children  were  barely 
alive;  and  nobody  even  knew.  For  they  were 
hill  people,  who  sicken,  suffer,  and  sometimes 
die,  like  animals,  and  make  no  noise. 

Grayson,  the  Virginian,  coming  down  from 
the  woods  that  morning,  saw  the  big-hearted  lit- 
tle doctor  outside  the  door  of  the  shack,  walking 
up  and  down,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  He 
was  whistling  softly  when  Grayson  got  near, 
and,  without  stopping,  pointed  with  his  thumb 
within.  The  oldest  boy  sat  stolidly  on  the  one 
chair  in  the  room,  his  little  brother  was  on  the 
floor  hard  by,  and  both  were  hugging  a  greasy 
stove.  The  little  girl  was  with  her  mother  in 
the  bed,  both  almost  out  of  sight  under  a  heap  of 
quilts.  The  baby  was  in  a  cradle,  with  its  face 
uncovered,  whether  dead  or  asleep  Grayson 
could  not  tell.  A  pine  coffin  was  behind  the 
door.  It  would  not  have  been  possible  to  add 
109 


GRAYSON'S  BABY 


to  the  disorder  of  the  room,  and  the  atmosphere 
made  Grayson  gasp.  He  came  out  looking 
white.  The  first  man  to  arrive  thereafter  took 
away  the  eldest  boy,  a  woman  picked  the  baby 
girl  from  the  bed,  and  a  childless  young  couple 
took  up  the  pallid  little  fellow  on  the  floor. 
These  were  step-children.  The  baby  boy  that 
was  left  was  the  woman's  own.  Nobody  came 
for  that,  and  Grayson  went  in  again  and  looked 
at  it  a  long  while.  So  little,  so  old  a  human  face 
he  had  never  seen.  The  brow  was  wrinkled  as 
with  centuries  of  pain,  and  the  little  drawn 
mouth  looked  as  though  the  spirit  within  had 
fought  its  inheritance  without  a  murmur,  and 
would  fight  on  that  way  to  the  end.  It  was  the 
pluck  of  the  face  that  drew  Grayson.  "  Til  take 
it,"  he  said.  The  doctor  was  not  without  his 
sense  of  humor  even  then,  but  he  nodded.  "  Cra- 
dle and  all,"  he  said,  gravely.  And  Grayson  put 
both  on  one  shoulder  and  walked  away.  He  had 
lost  the  power  of  giving  further  surprise  in  that 
town,  and  had  he  met  every  man  he  knew,  not 
one  of  them  would  have  felt  at  liberty  to  ask 
him  what  he  was  doing.  An  hour  later  the 
doctor  found  the  child  in  Grayson's  room,  and 
Grayson  still  looking  at  it. 

"  Is  it  going  to  live,  doctor?  " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  Doubtful. 
Look  at  the  color.    It's  starved.   There's  noth- 

IIO 


GBAYSOiYS  BABY 


ing  to  do  but  to  watch  it  and  feed  it.  You  can 
do  that." 

So  Grayson  watched  it,  with  a  fascination  of 
which  he  was  hardly  conscious.  Never  for  one 
instant  did  its  look  change — the  quiet,  unyielding 
endurance  that  no  faith  and  no  philosophy  could 
ever  bring  to  him.  It  was  ideal  courage,  that 
look,,  to  accept  the  inevitable  but  to  fight  it  just 
that  way.  •  Half  the  little  mountain  town  was 
talking  next  day — that  such  a  tragedy  was  pos- 
sible by  the  public  road-side,  with  relief  within 
sound  of  the  baby's  cry.  The  oldest  boy  was 
least  starved.  Might  made  right  in  an  extremity 
like  his,  and  the  boy  had  taken  care  of  himself. 
The  young  couple  who  had  the  second  lad  in 
charge  said  they  had  been  wakened  at  daylight 
the  next  morning  by  some  noise  in  the  room. 
Looking  up,  they  saw  the  little  fellow  at  the 
fireplace  breaking  an  egg.  He  had  built  a  fire, 
had  got  eggs  from  the  kitchen,  and  was  cooking 
his  breakfast.  The  little  girl  was  mischievous 
and  cheery  in  spite  of  her  bad  plight,  and  nobody 
knew  of  the  baby  except  Grayson  and  the  doc- 
tor. Grayson  would  let  nobody  else  in.  As  soon 
as  it  was  well  enough  to  be  peevish  and  to  cry,  he 
took  it  back  to  its  mother,  who  was  still  abed.  A 
long,  dark  mountaineer  was  there,  of  whom  '"he 
woman  seemed  half  afraid.  He  followed  Gray- 
son outside. 

in 


GKAYSON'S  BABY 


"  Say,  podner,"  he  said,  with  an  unpleasant 
smile,  "  ye  don't  go  up  to  Cracker's  Neck  fer 
nothin',  do  ye?  " 

The  woman  had  lived  at  Cracker's  Neck  be- 
fore she  appeared  at  the  Gap,  and  it  did  not 
come  to  Grayson  what  the  man  meant  until  he 
was  half-way  to  his  room.  Then  he  flushed  hot 
and  wheeled  back  to  the  cabin,  but  the  moun- 
taineer was  gone. 

"  Tell  that  fellow  he  had  better  keep  out  of 
my  way,"  he  said  to  the  woman,  who  understood, 
and  wanted  to  say  something,  but  not  knowing 
how,  nodded  simply.  In  a  few  days  the  other 
children  went  back  to  the  cabin,  and  day  and 
night  Grayson  went  to  see  the  child,  until  it  was 
out  of  danger,  and  afterwards.  It  was  not  long 
before  the  women  in  town  complained  that  the 
mother  was  ungrateful.  When  they  sent  things 
to  eat  to  her  the  servant  brought  back  word  that 
she  had  called  out,  "  4  Set  them  over  thar,'  with- 
out so  much  as  a  thanky."  One  message  was 
that  "  she  didn'  want  no  second-hand  victuals 
from  nobody's  table."  Somebody  suggested 
sending  the  family  to  the  poor-house.  The 
mother  said  "  she'd  go  out  on  her  crutches  and 
hoe  corn  fust,  and  that  the  people  who  talked 
'bout  sendin'  her  to  the  po'house  had  better 
save  their  breath  to  make  prayers  with."  One 
day  she  was  hired  to  do  some  washing.  The 
112 


GKAYSON'S  BABY 


mistress  of  the  house  happened  not  to  rise  un- 
til ten  o'clock.  Next  morning  the  mountain 
woman  did  not  appear  until  that  hour.  "  She 
wasn't  goin'  to  work  a  lick  while  that  woman 
was  a-layin'  in  bed,"  she  said,  frankly.  And 
when  the  lady  went  down  town,  she  too  dis- 
appeared. Nor  would  she,  she  explained  to 
Grayson,  1  1  while  that  woman  was  a-struttin' 
the  streets." 

After  that,  one  by  one,  they  let  her  alone,  and 
the  woman  made  not  a  word  of  complaint. 
Within  a  week  she  was  working  in  the  fields, 
when  she  should  have  been  back  in  bed.  The 
result  was  that  the  child  sickened  again.  The  old 
look  came  back  to  its  face,  and  Grayson  was 
there  night  and  day.  He  was  having  trouble  out 
in  Kentucky  about  this  time,  and  he  went  to  the 
Blue  Grass  pretty  often.  Always,  however,  he 
left  money  with  me  to  see  that  the  child  was 
properly  buried  if  it  should  die  while  he  was 
gone ;  and  once  he  telegraphed  to  ask  how  it  was. 
He  said  he  was  sometimes  afraid  to  open  my 
letters  for  fear  that  he  should  read  that  the  baby 
was  dead.  The  child  knew  Grayson's  voice,  his 
step.  It  would  go  to  him  from  its  own  mother. 
When  it  was  sickest  and  lying  torpid  it  would 
move  the  instant  he  stepped  into  the  room,  and, 
when  he  spoke,  would  hold  out  its  thin  arms, 
without  opening  its  eyes,  and  for  hours  Grayson 

"3 


GBAYSON'S  BABY 


would  walk  the  floor  with  the  troubled  little 
baby  over  his  shoulder.  I  thought  several  times 
it  would  die  when,  on  one  trip,  Grayson  was 
away  for  two  weeks.  One  midnight,  indeed,  I 
found  the  mother  moaning,  and  three  female 
harpies  about  the  cradle.  The  baby  was  dying 
this  time,  and  I  ran  back  for  a  flask  of  whiskey 
Ten  minutes  late  with  the  whiskey  that  niglu 
would  have  been  too  late.  The  baby  got  to  know 
me  and  my  voice  during  that  fortnight,  but  it 
was  still  in  danger  when  Grayson  got  back,  and 
we  went  to  see  it  together.  It  was  very  weak, 
and  we  both  leaned  over  the  cradle,  from  either 
side,  and  I  saw  the  pity  and  affection — y*$,  hun- 
gry, half-shamed  affection — in  Grayson's  face. 
The  child  opened  its  eyes,  looked  from  one  to 
the  other,  and  held  out  its  arms  to  me,  Grayson 
should  have  known  that  the  child  forgot — that 
it  would  forget  its  own  mother.  He  turned 
sharply,  and  his  face  was  a  little  pale.  He  gave 
something  to  the  woman,  and  not  till  then  did  I 
notice  that  her  soft  black  eyes  never  left  him 
while  he  was  in  the  cabin.  The  child  got  well ; 
but  Grayson  never  went  to  the  shack  again,  and 
he  said  nothing  when  I  came  in  one  night  and 
told  him  that  some  mountaineer — a  long,  dark 
fellow — had  taken  the  woman,  the  children, 
and  the  household  gods  of  the  shack  back  into 
the  mountains. 


114 


GKAYSON'S  BABY 


"  They  don't  grieve  long,"  I  said,  "  these 
people." 

But  long  afterwards  I  saw  the  woman  again 
along  the  dusty  road  that  leads  into  the  Gap. 
She  had  heard  over  in  the  mountains  that  Gray- 
son was  dead,  and  had  walked  for  two  days  to 
learn  if  it  was  true.  I  pointed  back  towards  Bee 
Rock,  and  told  her  that  he  had  fallen  from  a 
cliff  back  there.  She  did  not  move,  nor  did  her 
look  change.  Moreover,  she  said  nothing,  and, 
being  in  a  hurry,  I  had  to  ride  on. 

At  the  foot-bridge  over  Roaring  Fork  I 
looked  back.  The  woman  was  still  there,  under 
the  hot  mid-day  sun  and  in  the  dust  of  the  road, 
motionless. 


COURTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN 


HIT  was  this  way,  stranger.  When  hit 
comes  to  handlin'  a  right  peert  gal,  Jeb 
Somers  air  about  the  porest  man  on  Fryin'  Pan, 
I  reckon;  an'  Polly  Ann  Sturgill  have  got  the 
vineg'rest  tongue  on  Cutshin  or  any  other  crick. 

So  the  boys  over  on  Fryin'  Pan  made  it  up  to 
git  'em  together.  Abe  Shivers — you've  heerd 
tell  o'  Abe — toF  Jeb  that  Polly  Ann  had  seed 
him  in  Hazlan  (which  she  hadn't,  of  co'se),  an' 
had  said  p'int-blank  that  he  was  the  likeliest  fel- 
ler she'd  seed  in  them  mountains.  An'  he  toF 
Polly  Ann  that  Jeb  was  ravin'  crazy  'bout  her. 
The  pure  misery  of  it  jes  made  him  plumb  de- 
lirious, Abe  said;  an'  'f  Polly  Ann  wanted  to 
find  her  match  fer  languige  an'  talkin'  out  peert 
— well,  she  jes  ought  to  strike  Jeb  Somers.  Fact 
is,  stranger,  Jeb  Somers  air  might'  nigh  a  idgit; 
but  Jeb  'lowed  he'd  rack  right  over  on  Cutshin 
an'  set  up  with  Polly  Ann  Sturgill ;  an'  Abe  tells 
Polly  Ann  the  king  bee  air  comin'.  An'  Polly 
Ann's  cousin,  Nance  Osborn,  comes  over  from 
Hell  fer  Sartain  (whut  runs  into  Kingdom- 
Come)  to  stay  all  night  an'  see  the  fun. 
116 


COUKTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN 


Now,  I  hain't  been  a-raftin'  logs  down  to  the 
settlemints  o'  Kaintuck  fer  nigh  on  to  twenty 
year  fer  nothin\  An'  I  know  gallivantin'  is 
diff'ent  with  us  mountain  fellers  an'  you  furriners, 
in  the  premises,  anyways,  as  them  lawyers  up  to 
court  says;  though  I  reckon  hit's  purty  much  the 
same  atter  the  premises  is  over.  Whar  you  says 
"  courtin',"  now,  we  says  "  talkin'  to."  Sallie 
Spurlock  over  on  Fryin'  Pan  is  a-talkin'  to  Jim 
Howard  now.  Sallie's  sister  hain't  nuver  talked 
to  no  man.  An'  whar  you  says  "  makin'  a  call 
on  a  young  lady,"  we  says  "  settin'  up  with  a 
gal  "  !  An',  stranger,  we  does  it.  We  hain't  got 
more'n  one  room  hardly  ever  in  these  mountains, 
an'  we're  jes  obleeged  to  set  up  to  do  any  court- 
in'  at  all. 

Well,  you  go  over  to  Sallie's  to  stay  all  night 
some  time,  an'  purty  soon  atter  supper  Jim  How- 
ard comes  in.  The  ole  man  an'  the  ole  woman 
goes  to  bed,  an'  the  chil'un  an'  you  go  to  bed,  an' 
ef  you  keeps  one  eye  open  you'll  see  Jim's  cheer 
an'  Sallie's  cheer  a-movin'  purty  soon,  till  they 
gets  plumb  together.  Then,  stranger,  hit  begins. 
Now  I  want  ye  to  understand  that  settin'  up 
means  business.  We  don't  'low  no  foolishness  in 
these  mountains;  an'  'f  two  fellers  happens  to 
meet  at  the  same  house,  they  jes  makes  the  gal 
say  which  one  she  likes  best,  an'  t'other  one  gits ! 
Well,  you'll  see  Jim  put  his  arm  'round  Sallie's 
117 


COTJBTDP  OX  CTTTSHIX 


neck  an'  whisper  a  long  while — jes  so.  Mebbe 
youVe  noticed  whut  fellers  us  mountain  folks  air 
fer  whisperin'.  YouVe  seed  fellers  a-whisperin' 
all  over  Hazlan  on  court  day,  hain't  ye?  Ole 
Tom  Perkins  '11  put  his  arm  aroun'  yo1  neck  an' 
whisper  in  yo'  year  ef  he's  ten  miles  out'n  the 
woods.  I  reckon  thar's  jes  so  much  devilmint 
a-goin'  on  in  these  mountains,  folks  is  naturely 
afeerd  to  talk  out  loud. 

Well,  Jim  lets  go  an'  Sallie  puts  her  arm 
aroun'  Jim's  neck  an'  whispers  a  long  while — jes 
so;  an'  'f  you  happen  to  wake  up  anywhar  to 
two  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  you'll  see  jes  that 
a-goin'  on.    Brother,  that's  settin'  up. 

Well,  Jeb  Somers,  as  I  was  a-sayin'  in  the 
premises,  'lowed  he'd  rack  right  over  on  Cutshin 
an'  set  up  with  Polly  Ann  comin'  Christmas  night. 
An'  Abe  tells  Polly  Ann  Jeb  says  he  aims  to  have 
her  fer  a  Christmas  gift  afore  mornin'.  Polly 
Ann  jes  sniffed  sorter,  but  you  know  women  folks 
air  always  mighty  ambitious  jes  to  see  a  feller 
anyways,  'f  he's  a-pinin'  fer  'em.  So  Jeb  come, 
an'  Jeb  was  fixed  up  now  fittin'  to  kill.  Jeb  had 
his  hair  oiled  down  nice  an'  slick,  and  his  mus- 
tache was  jes  black  as  powder  could  make  hit. 
Naturely  hit  was  red;  but  a  feller  can't  do  noth- 
in'  in  these  mountains  with  a  red  mustache;  an' 
Jeb  had  a  big  black  ribbon  tied  in  the  butt  o'  the 
bigges'  pistol  Abe  Shivers  could  borrer  fer  him — 
118 


COTTETIN'  ON  CUTSHDT 


hit  was  a  badge  o'  death  an'  deestruction  to  his 
enemies,  Abe  said,  an'  I  tell  ye  Jeb  did  look  like 
a  man.  He  never  opened  his  mouth  atter  he 
says  "howdy"  —  Jeb  never  does  say  nothin' ; 
Jeb's  one  o'  them  fellers  whut  hides  thar  lack  o' 
brains  by  a-lookin'  solemn  an'  a-keepin'  still,  but 
thar  don't  nobody  say  much  tell  the  ole  folks  air 
gone  to  bed,  an'  Polly  Ann  jes  'lowed  Jeb  was 
a-waitin'.  Fact  is,  stranger,  Abe  Shivers  had  got 
Jeb  a  leetle  disguised  by  liquer,  an'  he  did  look 
fat  an'  sassy,  ef  he  couldn't  talk,  a-settin'  over 
in  the  corner  a-plunkin  the  banjer  an'  a-knockin' 
off  "  Sour-wood  Mountain "  an'  "  Jinny  Git 
Aroun'  "  an'  "  Soapsuds  over  the  Fence." 

u  Chickens  a-crowin'  on  Sour-wood  Mountain,, 
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee! 
Git  yo'  dawgs  an'  we'll  go  hunting 
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee! 99 

An'  when  Jeb  comes  to 

M  I've  got  a  gal  at  the  head  o*  the  holler, 
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!  99 

he  jes  turns  one  eye  'round  on  Polly  Ann,  an* 
then  swings  his  chin  aroun'  as  though  he  didn't 
give  a  cuss  f er  nothin'. 

**  She  won't  come,  an*  I  won't  foller, 

Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee! 99 

119 


C0UBTI1F  OiJ  CUTSHIN 


Well,  sir,  Nance  seed  that  Polly  Ann  was 
a-eyin'  Jeb  sort  o'  flustered  like,  an'  she  come 
might'  nigh  splittin'  right  thar  an'  a-sp'ilin'  the 
fun,  fer  she  knowed  what  a  skeery  fool  Jeb  was. 
An'  when  the  ole  folks  goes  to  bed,  Nance  lays 
thar  under  a  quilt  a-watchin'  an'  a-listenin'. 
Well,  Jeb  knowed  the  premises,  ef  he  couldn't 
talk,  an'  purty  soon  Nance  heerd  Jeb's  cheer 
creak  a  leetle,  an'  she  says,  Jeb's  a-comin',  and 
Jeb  was;  an'  Polly  Ann  'lowed  Jeb  was  jes  a 
leetle  too  resolute  an'  quick-like,  an'  she  got  her 
hand  ready  to  give  him  one  lick  anyways  fer 
bein'  so  brigaty.  I  don't  know  as  she'd  'a'  hit 
him  more'n  once.  Jeb  had  a  farm,  an'  Polly 
Ann — well,  Polly  Ann  was  a-gittin'  along.  But 
Polly  Ann  sot  thar  jes  as  though  she  didn't  know 
Jeb  was  a-comin',  an'  Jeb  stopped  once  an'  says, 

"  You  hain't  got  nothin'  agin  me,  has  ye?  " 

An'  Polly  Ann  says,  sorter  quick, 

"Naw;ef  I  had,  I'd  push  it." 

Well,  Jeb  mos'  fell  off  his  cheer,  when,  ef  he 
hadn't  been  sech  a  skeery  idgit,  he'd  'a'  knowed 
that  Polly  Ann  was  plain  open  an'  shet  a-biddin' 
fer  him.  But  he  sot  thar  like  a  knot  on  a  log  fer 
haffen  hour,  an'  then  he  rickollected,  I  reckon, 
that  Abe  had  tol'  him  Polly  Ann  was  peppery 
an'  he  mustn't  mind,  fer  Jeb  begun  a-movin' 
ag'in  till  he  was  slam-bang  ag'in  Polly  Ann's 
cheer.  An'  thar  he  sot  like  a  punkin,  not  sayin* 
120 


COUBTIN'  ON  CUTSHIN 

St  word  nur  doin'  nothin'.   An'  while  Polly  Ann 
was  a-wonderin'  ef  he  was  gone  plumb  crazy5 
blame  me  ef  that  durned  fool  didn't  turn  roun* 
to  that  peppery  gal  an'  say, 
"  Booh,  Polly  Ann! 55 

Well,  Nance  had  to  stuff  the  bedquilt  in  her 
mouth  right  thar  to  keep  from  hollerin'  out  loud, 
fer  Polly  Ann's  hand  was  a  hangin'  down  by  the 
cheer,  jes  a-waitin'  fer  a  job,  and  Nance  seed 
the  fingers  a-twitchin'.  An'  Jeb  waits  another 
haffen  hour,  an'  Jeb  says, 

"  Ortern't  I  be  killed?" 

"  Whut  fer?"  says  Polly  Ann,  sorter  sh*rp. 

An'  Jeb  says,  "  Fer  bein'  so  devilish." 

Well,  brother,  Nance  snorted  right  out  thar> 
an'  Polly  Ann  Sturgill's  hand  riz  up  jes  once;  an' 
I've  heerd  Jeb  Somers  say  the  next  time  he 
jumps  out  o'  the  Fryin'  Pan  he's  a-goin'  to  take 
hell-fire  'stid  o'  Cutshin  fer  a  place  to  light. 


121 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND 


STRANGER,  you  furriners  don't  nuver  seem 
to  consider  that  a  woman  has  always  got  the 
devil  to  fight  in  two  people  at  once !  Hit's  two 
agin  one,  I  tell  ye,  an'  hit  hain't  fa'r. 

That's  what  I  said  more'n  two  year  ago,  when 
Rosie  Branham  was  a-layin'  up  thar  at  Dave 
Hall's,  white  an'  mos'  dead.  An',  God,  boys,  I 
says,  that  leetle  thing  in  thar  by  her  shorely 
can't  be  to  blame. 

Thar  hain't  been  a  word  agin  Rosie  sence ;  an", 
stranger,  I  reckon  thar  nuver  will  be.  Fer,  while 
the  gal  hain't  got  hide  o'  kith  or  kin,  thar  air  two 
fellers  up  hyeh  sorter  lookin'  atter  Rosie ;  an'  one 
of  'em  is  the  shootin'es'  man  on  this  crick,  I  reck- 
on, 'cept  one;  an',  stranger,  that's  t'other. 

Rosie  kep'  her  mouth  shet  fer  a  long  while; 
an'  I  reckon  as  how  the  feller  'lowed  she  wasn't 
goin'  to  tell.  Co'se  the  woman  folks  got  hit  out'n 
her  —  they  al'ays  gits  whut  they  want,  as  you 
know — an'  thar  the  sorry  cuss  was — a-livin'  up 
thar  in  the  Bend,  jes  aroun'  that  bluff  o'  lorrel 
yander,  a-lookin'  pious,  an'  a-singin',  an'  a-sayin' 
Amen  louder  'n  anybody  when  thar  was  meetin'. 
122 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND 


Well,  my  boy  Jim  an'  a  lot  o'  fellers  jes  went 
up  fer  him  right  away.  I  don't  know  as  the  boys 
would  'a'  killed  him  exactly  ef  they  had  kotched 
him,  though  they  mought ;  but  they  got  Abe  Shiv- 
ers, as  tol'  the  feller  they  was  a-comin' — you've 
heard  tell  o'  Abe — an'  they  mos'  beat  Abraham 
Shivers  to  death.  Stranger,  the  sorry  cuss  was 
Dave.  Rosie  hadn't  no  daddy  an'  no  mammy; 
an'  she  was  jes  a-workin'  at  Dave's  fer  her 
victuals  an'  clo'es.  'Pears  like  the  pore  gal 
was  jes  tricked  into  evil.  Looked  like  she  was 
sorter  'witched  —  an'  anyways,  stranger,  she 
was  a-fightin'  Satan  in  herself,  as  well  as  in 
Dave.  Hit  was  two  agin  one,  I  tell  ye,  an'  hit 
wasn't  fa'r. 

Cose  they  turned  Rosie  right  out  in  the  road. 
I  hain't  got  a  word  to  say  agin  Dave's  wife  fer 
that;  an'  atter  a  while  the  boys  lets  Dave  come 
back,  to  take  keer  o'  his  ole  mammy,  of  co'se, 
but  I  tell  ye  Dave's  a-playin'  a  purty  lonsesome 
tune.  He  keeps  purty  shy  yit.  He  don't  nuver 
sa'nter  down  this  way.  'Pears  like  he  don't 
seem  to  think  hit's  healthy  fer  him  down  hyeh, 
an'  I  reckon  Dave's  right. 

Rosie  ?  Oh,  well,  I  sorter  tuk  Rosie  in  my- 
self. Yes,  she's  been  livin'  thar  in  the  shack 
with  me  an'  my  boy  Jim,  an'  the —  Why,  thar 
he  is  now,  stranger.  That's  him  a-wallerin'  out 
thar  in  the  road.  Do  you  reckon  thar'd  be  a 
123 


THE  MESSAGE  IN  THE  SAND 


single  thing  agin  that  leetle  cuss  ef  he  had  to 
stan'  up  on  Jedgment  Day  jes  as  he  is  now? 

Look  hyeh,  stranger,  whut  you  reckon  the 
Lawd  kep'  a-writin'  thar  on  the  groun'  that  day 
when  them  fellers  was  a-pesterin'  him  about  that 
pore  woman?  Don't  you  jes  know  he  was  a 
writin'  'bout  sech  as  him — an'  Rosie?  I  tell 
ye,  brother,  he  writ  thar  jes  what  I'm  al'ays 
a-sayin\ 

Hit  hain't  the  woman's  fault.  I  said  it 
more'n  two  years  ago,  when  Rosie  was  up  thar 
at  ole  Dave's,  an'  I  said  it  yestiddy,  when  my 
boy  Jim  come  to  me  an'  'lowed  as  how  he  aimed 
to  take  Rosie  down  to  town  to-day  an'  git  mar- 
ried. 

"  You  ricollect,  dad,"  says  Jim,  "  her  mam- 
my?" 

"  Yes,  Jim,"  I  says;  "  all  the  better  reason 
not  to  be  too  hard  on  Rosie." 

I'm  a-lookin'  fer  'em  both  back  right  now, 
stranger;  an'  ef  you  will,  I'll  be  mighty  glad  to 
have  ye  stay  right  hyeh  to  the  infair  this  very 
night.  Thar  nuver  was  a  word  agin  Rosie 
afore,  thar  hain't  been  sence,  an'  you  kin  ride  up 
an'  down  this  river  till  the  crack  o'  doom  an' 
you'll  nuver  hear  a  word  agin  her  ag'in.  Fer, 
as  I  tol'  you,  my  boy,  Jim  is  the  shootin'es'  fel- 
ler on  this  crick,  I  reckon,  'cept  one,  an',  stran- 
ger, that's  me! 

124 


THE  SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE 


A DROVE  of  lean  cattle  were  swinging 
easily  over  Black  Mountain,  and  behind 
them  came  a  big  man  with  wild  black  hair  and 
a  bushy  beard.  Now  and  then  he  would  gnaw 
at  his  mustache  with  his  long,  yellow  teeth, 
or  would  sit  down  to  let  his  lean  horse  rest,  and 
would  flip  meaninglessly  at  the  bushes  with  a 
switch.  Sometimes  his  bushy  head  would  droop 
over  on  his  breast,  and  he  would  snap  it  up 
sharply  and  start  painfully  on.  Robber,  cattle- 
thief,  outlaw  he  might  have  been  in  another  cen- 
tury; for  he  filled  the  figure  of  any  robber  hero 
in  life  or  romance,  and  yet  he  was  only  the  Sen- 
ator from  Bell,  as  he  was  known  in  the  little 
Kentucky  capital;  or,  as  he  was  known  in  his 
mountain  home,  just  the  Senator,  who  had  toiled 
and  schemed  and  grown  rich  and  grown  poor; 
who  had  suffered  long  and  was  kind. 

Only  that  Christmas  he  had  gutted  every 
store  in  town.  "  Give  me  everything  you  have, 
brother,"  he  said,  across  each  counter;  and  next 
day  every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  moun- 
tain town  had  a  present  from  the  Senator's 
125 


THE  SENATOK'S  LAST  TEADE 


hands.  He  looked  like  a  brigand  that  day, 
as  he  looked  now,  but  he  called  every  man 
his  brother,  and  his  eye,  while  black  and  lus- 
treless as  night,  was  as  brooding  and  just  as 
kind. 

When  the  boom  went  down,  with  it  and  with 
everybody  else  went  the  Senator.  Slowly  he  got 
dusty,  ragged,  long  of  hair.  He  looked  tor- 
tured and  ever-restless.  You  never  saw  him 
still;  always  he  swept  by  you,  flapping  his  legs 
on  his  lean  horse  or  his  arms  in  his  rickety  bug- 
gy here,  there,  everywhere  —  turning,  twisting, 
fighting  his  way  back  to  freedom — and  not  a 
murmur.  Still  was  every  man  his  brother,  and 
if  some  forgot  his  once  open  hand,  he  forgot 
it  no  more  completely  than  did  the  Senator.  He 
went  very  far  to  pay  his  debts.  He  felt  honor 
bound,  indeed,  to  ask  his  sister  to  give  back  the 
farm  that  he  had  given  her,  which,  very  prop- 
erly people  said,  she  declined  to  do.  Nothing 
could  kill  hope  in  the  Senator's  breast;  he  would 
hand  back  the  farm  in  another  year,  he  said; 
but  the  sister  was  firm,  and  without  a  word  still, 
the  Senator  went  other  ways  and  schemed 
through  the  nights,  and  worked  and  rode  and 
walked  and  traded  through  the  days,  until  now, 
when  the  light  was  beginning  to  glimmer,  his 
end  was  come. 

This  was  the  Senator's  last  trade,  and  in 
126 


THE  SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE 


sight,  down  in  a  Kentucky  valley,  was  home. 
Strangely  enough,  the  Senator  did  not  care  at  all, 
and  he  had  just  enough  sanity  left  to  wonder 
why,  and  to  be  worried.  It  was  the  "  walk- 
ing typhoid  "  that  had  caught  up  with  him,  and 
he  was  listless,  and  he  made  strange  gestures 
and  did  foolish  things  as  he  stumbled  down  the 
mountain.  He  was  going  over  a  little  knoll 
novv,  and  he  could  see  the  creek  that  ran  around 
his  house,  but  he  was  not  touched.  He  would 
just  as  soon  have  lain  down  right  where  he  was, 
or  have  turned  around  and  gone  back,  except 
that  it  was  hot  and  he  wanted  to  get  to  the  wa- 
ter. He  remembered  that  it  was  nigh  Christ- 
mas ;  he  saw  the  snow  about  him  and  the  cakes 
of  ice  in  the  creek.  He  knew  that  he  ought  not 
to  be  hot,  and  yet  he  was — so  hot  that  he  re- 
fused to  reason  with  himself  even  a  minute,  and 
hurried  on.  It  was  odd  that  it  should  be  so,  but 
just  about  that  time,  over  in  Virginia,  a  cattle- 
dealer,  nearing  home,  stopped  to  tell  a  neighbor 
how  he  had  tricked  some  black-whiskered  fool 
up  in  the  mountains.  It  may  have  been  just 
when  he  was  laughing  aloud  over  there,  that  the 
Senator,  over  here,  tore  his  woollen  shirt  from 
his  great  hairy  chest  and  rushed  into  the  icy 
stream,  clapping  his  arms  to  his  burning  sides 
and  shouting  in  his  frenzy. 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said  a,  con- 
127 


THE  SENATOR'S  LAST  TRADE 


stituent,  "  he  would  have  lost  the  next  election. 
He  hadn't  the  money,  you  know." 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said  the 
mountain  preacher  high  up  on  Yellow  Creek, 
"  I'd  have  got  that  trade  I  had  on  hand  with 
him  through.  Not  that  I  wanted  him  to  die, 
but  if  he  had  to — why  " 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said  the 
Senator's  lawyer,  "  he  would  have  cleaned  off 
the  score  against  him." 

"  If  he  had  lived  a  little  longer,"  said  the 
Senator's  sister,  not  meaning  to  be  unkind,  "  he 
would  have  got  all  I  have." 

That  was  what  life  held  for  the  Senator. 
Death  was  more  kind. 


128 


PREACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME 


I'VE  told  ye,  stranger,  that  Hell  fer  Sartain 
empties,  as  it  oughter,  of  co'se,  into  King- 
dom-Come. You  can  ketch  the  devil  'most  any 
day  in  the  week  on  Hell  fer  Sartain,  an'  some- 
times you  can  git  Glory  everlastin'  on  Kingdom- 
Come.  Hit's  the  only  meetin'-house  thar  in 
twenty  miles  aroun.' 

Well,  the  reg'lar  rider,  ole  Jim  Skaggs,  was 
dead,  an'  the  bretherin  was  a-lookin'  aroun'  fer 
somebody  to  step  into  ole  Jim's  shoes.  Thar'd 
been  one  young  feller  up  thar  from  the  settle- 
mints,  a-cavortin'  aroun',  an'  they  was  studyin' 
'bout  gittin'  him. 

"  Bretherin'  an'  sisteren,"  I  says,  atter  the 
leetle  chap  was  gone,  "  he's  got  the  fortitood  to 
speak  an'  he  shorely  is  well  favored.  He's  got  a 
mighty  good  hawk  eye  fer  spyin'  out  evil — an' 
the  gals;  he  can  outholler  ole  Jim;  an'  i/,"  I 
says,  11  any  idees  ever  comes  to  him,  he'll  be  a 
hell-rouser  shore  —  but  they  ain't  comin' !  " 
An',  so  sayin',  I  takes  my  foot  in  my  hand  an' 
steps  fer  home. 

Stranger,  them  fellers  over  thar  hain't  seed 
129 


PREACHIN*  ON"  KINGDOM-COME 


much  o'  this  world.  Lots  of  'em  nuver  seed  the 
cyars;  some  of  'em  nuver  seed  a  wagon.  An' 
atter  jowerin'  an'  noratin'  fer  'bout  two  hours, 
what  you  reckon  they  said  they  aimed  to  do? 
They  believed  they'd  take  that  ar  man  Beecher, 
ef  they  could  git  him  to  come.  They'd  heerd  ok 
Henry  endurin'  the  war,  an'  they  knowed  he 
was  agin  the  rebs,  an'  they  wanted  Henry  if 
they  could  jes  git  him  to  come. 

Well,  I  snorted,  an'  the  feud  broke  out  on 
Hell  fer  Sartain  betwixt  the  Days  an'  the  Dil- 
lons. Mace  Day  shot  Daws  Dillon's  brother, 
as  I  rickollect  —  somep'n's  al'ays  a-startin'  up 
that  plaguey  war  an'  a-makin'  things  frolicsome 
over  thar  —  an'  ef  it  hadn't  a-been  fer  a  tall 
young  feller  with  black  hair  an'  a  scar  across 
his  forehead,  who  was  a-goin'  through  the 
mountains  a-settlin'  these  wars,  blame  me  ef  I 
believe  thar  ever  would  'a'  been  any  mo'  preach- 
in'  on  Kingdom-Come.  This  feller  comes  over 
from  Hazlan  an'  says  he  aims  to  hold  a  meetin' 
on  Kingdom-Come.  "  Brother,"  I  says,  "  that's 
what  no  preacher  have  ever  did  whilst  this  war 
is  a-goin'  on."  An'  he  says,  sort  o'  quiet, 
"  Well,  then,  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  do  what  no 
preacher  have  ever  did."  An'  I  ups  an'  says: 
"  Brother,  an  ole  jedge  come  up  here  once  from 
the  settlemints  to  hold  couht.  *  Jedge,'  I  says, 
c  that's  what  no  jedge  have  ever  did  without 
130 


PKEACHIN'  ON  KINGDOM-COME 


soldiers  since  this  war's  been  a-goin'  on.'  An', 
brother,  the  jedge's  words  was  yours,  p'int- 
blank.  4  All  right,'  he  says,  4  then  I'll  have  to 
do  what  no  other  jedge  have  ever  did.'  An', 
brother,"  says  I  to  the  preacher,  4 4  the  jedge 
done  it  shore.  He  jes  laid  under  the  couht- 
house  fer  two  days  whilst  the  boys  fit  over  him. 
An'  when  I  sees  the  jedge  a-makin'  tracks  fer 
the  settlemints,  I  says,  4  Jedge,'  I  says,  4  you 
spoke  a  parable  shore.'  " 

Well,  sir,  the  long  preacher  looked  jes  as 
though  he  was  a-sayin'  to  hisself,  44  Yes,  I  hear 
ye,  but  I  don't  heed  ye,"  an'  when  he  says,  44  Jes 
the  same,  I'm  a-goin'  to  hold  a  meetin'  on  King- 
dom-Come," why,  I  jes  takes  my  foot  in  my 
hand  an'  ag'in  I  steps  fer  home. 

That  night,  stranger,  I  seed  another  feller 
from  Hazlan,  who  was  a-tellin'  how  this  here 
preacher  had  stopped  the  war  over  thar,  an'  had 
got  the  Marcums  an'  Braytons  to  shakin'  hands; 
an'  next  day  ole  Tom  Perkins  stops  in  an'  says 
that  wharas  there  mought  'a'  been  preachin' 
somewhar  an'  sometime,  thar  nuver  had  been 
preachin'  afore  on  Kingdom-Come.  So  I  goes 
over  to  the  meetin'-house,  an'  they  was  all  thar 
— Daws  Dillon  an'  Mace  Day,  the  leaders  in 
the  war,  an'  Abe  Shivers  (you've  heerd  tell  o' 
Abe)  who  was  a-carryin'  tales  from  one  side  to 
t'other  an'  a-stirrin'  up  hell  ginerally,  as  Abe 
I3i 


PREACHI2P  OX  KINGDOM-COMB 


most  al'ays  is;  an'  thar  was  Daws  on  one  side  o* 
the  meetin'-house  an'  Mace  on  t'other,  an'  both 
jes  a-watchin'  fer  t'other  to  make  a  move,  an' 
thar'd  'a'  been  billy-hell  to  pay  right  thar! 
Stranger,  that  long  preacher  talked  jes  as  easy 
as  I'm  a-talkin'  now,  an'  hit  was  p'int-blank  as 
the  feller  from  Hazlan  said.  You  jes  ought  V 
heerd  him  tellin'  about  the  Lawd  a-bein'  as  pore 
as  any  feller  thar,  an'  a-makin'  barns  an'  fences 
an'  ox-yokes  an'  sech  like ;  an'  not  a-bein'  able  to 
write  his  own  name — havin'  to  make  his  mark 
mebbe — when  he  started  out  to  save  the  world. 
An'  how  they  tuk  him  an'  nailed  him  onto  a 
cross  when  he'd  come  down  fer  nothin'  but  to 
save  'em;  an'  stuck  a  spear  big  as  a  corn-knife 
into  his  side,  an'  give  him  vinegar;  an'  his  own 
mammy  a-standin'  down  thar  on  the  ground  a- 
cryin'  an'  a-watchin'  him;  an'  he  a-fergivin'  all 
of  'em  then  an'  thar ! 

Thar  nuver  had  been  nothin'  like  that  afore 
on  Kingdom-Come,  an'  all  along  I  heerd  fellers 
a-layin'  thar  guns  down;  an'  when  the  preacher 
called  out  fer  sinners,  blame  me  ef  the  fust  fel- 
ler that  riz  wasn't  Mace  Day.  An'  Mace  says, 
"  Stranger,  'f  what  you  say  is  true,  I  reckon  the 
Lawd  '11  fergive  me  too,  but  I  don't  believe 
Daws  Dillon  ever  will,"  an'  Mace  stood  thar 
lookin'  around  fer  Daws.  An'  all  of  a  sudden 
the  preacher  got  up  straight  an'  called  out,  "  Is 
132 


PKEACHIJSP  ON*  KINGDOM-COME 


thar  a  human  In  this  house  mean  an'  sorry 
enough  to  stand  betwixt  a  man  an'  his  Maker  "  ? 
An'  right  thar,  stranger,  Daws  riz.  "  Naw,  by 
God,  thar  hain't!  "  Daws  says,  an'  he  walks  up 
to  Mace  a-holdin'  out  his  hand,  an'  they  all 
busts  out  cryin'  an'  shakin'  hands  —  Days  an' 
Dillons — jes  as  the  preacher  had  made  'em  do 
over  in  Hazlan.  An'  atter  the  thing  was  over, 
I  steps  up  to  the  preacher  an'  I  says : 

"  Brother,"  I  says,  "  you  spoke  a  parable* 
shore." 


*33 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABRAHAM 
SHIVERS 


I TELL  ye,  boys,  hit  hain't  often  a  feller 
has  the  chance  o'  doin'  so  much  good  jes 
by  dyin\  Fer  'f  Abe  Shivers  air  gone,  shorely 
gone,  the  rest  of  us — every  durn  one  of  us — air 
a-goin'  to  be  saved.  Fer  Abe  Shivers — you 
hain't  heerd  tell  o'  Abe?  Well,  you  must  be  a 
stranger  in  these  mountains  o'  Kaintuck,  shore. 

"I  don't  know,  stranger,  as  Abe  ever  was 
borned;  nobody  in  these  mountains  knows  it  'f 
he  was.  The  fust  time  I  ever  heerd  tell  o'  Abe 
he  was  a-hollerin'  fer  his  rights  one  mawnin'  at 
daylight,  endurin'  the  war,  jes  outside  o'  ole 
Tom  Perkins'  door  on  Fryin'  Pan.  Abe  was 
left  thar  by  some  home-gyard,  I  reckon.  Well, 
nobody  air  ever  turned  out'n  doors  in  these 
mountains,  as  you  know,  an'  Abe  got  his  rights 
that  mawnin',  an'  he's  been  a-gittin'  'em  ever 
sence.  Tom  already  had  a  houseful,  but  'f  any 
feller  got  the  bigges'  hunk  o'  corn-bread,  that 
feller  was  Abe;  an'  ef  any  feller  got  a-whalin', 
hit  wasn't  Abe. 

"  Abe  tuk  to  lyin'  right  naturely — looked 

134 


THE  PASSING  OF  ABEAHAM  SHIVEES 


like — afore  he  could  talk.  Fact  is,  Abe  nuver 
could  do  nothin'  but  jes  whisper.  Still,  Abe 
could  manage  to  send  a  lie  furder  with  that  rat- 
tlin'  whisper  than  ole  Tom  could  with  that  big 
horn  o'  hisn  what  tells  the  boys  the  revenoos  air 
comin'  up  Fryin'  Pan. 

"  Didn't  take  Abe  long  to  git  to  braggin'  an* 
drinkin'  an'  naggin'  an'  hectorin' — everything, 
'mos',  'cept  fightin'.  Nobody  ever  drawed  Abe 
Shivers  into  a  fight.  I  don't  know  as  he  was 
afeerd;  looked  like  Abe  was  a-havin'  sech  a 
tarnation  good  time  with  his  devilmint  he  jes 
didn't  want  to  run  no  risk  o'  havin'  hit  stopped. 
An'  sech  devilmint !  Hit  ud  take  a  coon's  age, 
I  reckon,  to  tell  ye. 

"  The  boys  was  a-goin'  up  the  river  one  night 
to  git  ole  Dave  Hall  fer  trickin'  Rosie  Branham 
into  evil.  Some  feller  goes  ahead  an'  tells  ole 
Dave  they's  a-comin'.  Hit  was  Abe.  Some 
feller  finds  a  streak  o'  ore  on  ole  Tom  Perkins' 
land,  an'  racks  his  jinny  down  to  town,  an'  tells 
a  furriner  thar,  an'  Tom  comes  might'  nigh 
sellin'  the  land  fer  nothin'.  Now  Tom  raised 
Abe,  but,  jes  the  same,  the  feller  was  Abe. 

U  One  night  somebody  guides  the  revenoos  in 
on  Hell  fer  Sartain,  an'  they  cuts  up  four  stills. 
Hit  was  Abe.  The  same  night,  mind  ye,  a  feller 
slips  in  among  the  revenoos  while  they's  asleep, 
and  cuts  off  their  hosses'  manes  an'  tails — muled 
135 


THE   PASSING  OP  ABRAHAM  SHIVJblKS 


every  durned  critter  uv  'em.  Stranger,  hit  was 
Abe.  An'  as  fer  women-folks — well,  Abe  was 
the  ill-favoredest  feller  I  ever  see,  an'  he  couldn't 
talk;  still,  Abe  was  sassy,  an'  you  know  how 
sass  counts  with  the  gals;  an'  Abe's  whisperin' 
come  in  jes  as  handy  as  any  feller's  settin'  up; 
so  'f  ever  you  seed  a  man  with  a  Winchester 
a-lookin'  fer  the  feller  who  had  cut  him  out, 
stranger,  he  was  a-lookin'  fer  Abe. 

"  Somebody  tells  Harve  Hall,  up  thar  at  a 
dance  on  Hell  fer  Sartain  one  Christmas  night, 
that  Rich  Harp  had  said  somep'n  agin  him  an' 
Nance  Osborn.  An'  somebody  tells  Rich  that 
Harve  had  said  somep'n  agin  Nance  an'  him. 
Flit  was  one  an'  the  same  feller,  stranger,  an' 
the  feller  was  Abe.  Well,  while  Rich  an'  Harve 
was  a-gittin'  well,  somebody  runs  off  with  Nance. 
Hit  was  Abe.  Then  Rich  an'  Harve  jes  draws 
straws  fer  a  feller.  Stranger,  they  drawed  fer 
Abe.  Hit's  purty  hard  to  believe  that  Abe  air 
gone,  'cept  that  Rich  Harp  an'  Harve  Hall 
don't  never  draw  no  straws  fer  nothin';  but  'f 
by  the  grace  o'  Goddlemighty  Abe  air  gone, 
why,  as  I  was  a-sayin',  the  rest  of  us — every 
durned  one  of  us — air  a-goin'  to  be  saved,  shore. 
Fer  Abe's  gone  fust,  an'  ef  thar's  only  one  Jedg- 
ment  Day,  the  Lawd  '11  nuver  git  to  us." 


136 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 


THE  purple  rhododendron  is  rare.  Up  in 
+hL  Gap  here,  Bee  Rock,  hung  out  over 
Roaring  Rock,  blossoms  with  it — as  a  gray  cloud 
purples  with  the  sunrise.  This  rock  was  tossed 
lightly  on  edge  when  the  earth  was  young,  and 
stands  vertical.  To  get  the  flowers  you  climb 
the  mountain  to  one  side,  and,  balancing  on  the 
rock's  thin  edge,  slip  down  by  roots  and  past 
rattlesnake  dens  till  you  hang  out  over  the 
water  and  reach  for  them.  To  avoid  snakes  it 
is  best  to  go  when  it  is  cool,  at  daybreak. 

I  know  but  one  other  place  in  this  southwest 
corner  of  Virginia  where  there  is  another  bush 
of  purple  rhododendron,  and  one  bush  only  is 
there.  This  hangs  at  the  throat  of  a  peak  not 
far  away,  whose  ageless  gray  head  is  bent  over 
a  ravine  that  sinks  like  a  spear  thrust  into  the 
side  of  the  mountain.  Swept  only  by  high  wind 
and  eagle  wings  as  this  is,  I  yet  knew  one  man 
foolhardy  enough  to  climb  to  it  for  a  flower.  He 
brought  one  blossom  down:  and  to  this  day  I 
do  not  know  that  it  was  not  the  act  of  a  coward; 
yes,  though  Grayson  did  it,  actually  smiling  all 
the  way  from  peak  to  ravine,  and  though  he  was 
137 


A  PUEPLE  KHODODEXDEON 


my  best  friend — best  loved  then  and  since.  I 
believe  he  was  the  strangest  man  I  have  ever 
known,  and  I  say  this  with  thought;  for  his  ec- 
centricities were  sincere.  In  all  he  did  I  cannot 
remember  having  even  suspected  anything  the- 
atrical but  once. 

We  were  all  Virginians  or  Kentuckians  at  the 
Gap,  and  Grayson  was  a  Virginian.  You  might 
have  guessed  that  he  was  a  Southerner  from  his 
voice  and  from  the  way  he  spoke  of  women — 
but  no  more.  Otherwise,  he  might  have  been  a 
Moor,  except  for  his  color,  which  was  about 
the  only  racial  characteristic  he  had.  He  had 
been  educated  abroad  and,  after  the  English 
habit,  had  travelled  everywhere.  And  yet  I  can 
imagine  no  more  lonely  way  between  the  eterni- 
ties than  the  path  Grayson  trod  alone. 

He  came  to  the  Gap  in  the  early  days,  and  just 
why  he  came  I  never  knew.  He  had  studied  the 
iron  question  a  long  time,  he  told  me,  and  what 
I  thought  reckless  speculation  was,  it  seems,  de- 
liberate judgment  to  him.  His  money  "  in  the 
dirt,"  as  the  phrase  was,  Grayson  got  him  a 
horse  and  rode  the  hills  and  waited.  He  was 
intimate  with  nobody.  Occasionally  he  would 
play  poker  with  us  and  sometimes  he  drank  a 
good  deal,  but  liquor  never  loosed  his  tongue. 
At  poker  his  face  told  as  little  as  the  back  of  his 
cards,  and  he  won  more  than  admiration — even 

138 


A  PUEPLE  EHOBODENDEON 


from  the  Kentuckians,  who  are  artists  at  the 
game;  but  the  money  went  from  a  free  hand, 
and,  after  a  diversion  like  this,  he  was  apt  to 
be  moody  and  to  keep  more  to  himself  than  ever. 
Every  fortnight  or  two  he  would  disappear,  al- 
ways over  Sunday.  In  three  or  four  days  he 
would  turn  up  again,  black  with  brooding,  and 
then  he  was  the  last  man  to  leave  the  card-table 
or  he  kept  away  from  it  altogether.  Where  he 
went  nobody  knew ;  and  he  was  not  the  man  any- 
body would  question. 

One^night  two  of  us  Kentuckians  were  sitting 
in  the  club,  and  from  a  home  paper  I  read  aloud 
the  rumored  engagement  of  a  girl  we  both  knew 
— who  was  famous  for  beauty  in  the  Bluegrass, 
as  was  her  mother  before  her  and  the  mother  be- 
fore her — to  an  unnamed  Virginian.  Grayson 
sat  near,  smoking  a  pipe;  and  when  I  read  the 
girl's  name  I  saw  him  take  the  meerschaum  from 
his  lips,  and  I  felt  his  eyes  on  me.  It  was  a 
mystery  how,  but  I  knew  at  once  that  Grayson 
was  the  man.  He  sought  me  out  after  that  and 
seemed  to  want  to  make  friends.  I  was  willing, 
or,  rather  he  made  me  more  than  willing;  for  he 
was  irresistible  to  me,  as  I  imagine  he  would 
have  been  to  anybody.  We  got  to  walking  to- 
gether and  riding  together  at  night,  and  we  were 
soon  rather  intimate ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  never 
so  much  as  spoke  the  girPs  name.  Indeed,  he 
139 


A  PUEPLE  BHODODEKDKON* 


kept  away  from  the  Bluegrass  for  nearly  two 
months;  but  when  he  did  go  he  stayed  a  fort- 
night. 

This  time  he  came  for  me  as  soon  as  he  got 
back  to  the  Gap.  It  was  just  before  midnight, 
and  we  went  as  usual  back  of  Imboden  Hill, 
through  moon-dappled  beeches,  and  Grayson 
turned  off  into  the  woods  where  there  was  no 
path,  both  of  us  silent.  We  rode  through  trem- 
ulous, shining  leaves — Grayson's  horse  choosing 
a  way  for  himself — and,  threshing  through  a 
patch  of  high,  strong  weeds,  we  circled  past  an 
amphitheatre  of  deadened  trees  whose  crooked 
arms  were  tossed  out  into  the  moonlight,  and 
halted  on  the  spur.  The  moon  was  poised  over 
Morris's  farm ;  South  Fork  was  shining  under  us 
like  a  loop  of  gold,  the  mountains  lay  about  in 
tranquil  heaps,  and  the  moon-mist  rose  luminous 
between  them.  There  Grayson  turned  to  me 
with  an  eager  light  in  his  eyes  that  I  had  never 
seen  before. 

"  This  has  a  new  beauty  to-night!  "  he  said; 
and  then  "I  told  her  about  you,  and  she  said  that 
she  used  to  know  you— well."  I  was  glad  my 
face  was  in  shadow — I  could  hardly  keep  back 
a  brutal  laugh — and  Grayson,  unseeing,  went  on 
to  speak  of  her  as  I  had  never  heard  any  man 
speak  of  any  woman.  In  the  end,  he  said  that 
she  had  just  promised  to  be  his  wife.  I  answered 
140 


A  PUKPLE  EHODODENDKON 


nothing.  Other  men,  I  knew,  had  said  that  with 
the  same  right,  perhaps,  and  had  gone  from  her 
to  go  back  no  more.  And  I  was  one  of  them. 
Grayson  had  met  her  at  White  Sulphur  five  years 
before,  and  had  loved  her  ever  since.  She  had 
known  it  from  the  first,  he  said,  and  I  guessed 
then  what  was  going  to  happen  to  him.  I  mar- 
velled, listening  to  the  man,  for  it  was  the  star 
of  constancy  in  her  white  soul  that  was  most 
lustrous  to  him — and  while  I  wondered  the  mar- 
vel became  a  commonplace.  Did  not  every  lover 
think  his  loved  one  exempt  from  the  frailty  that 
names  other  women?  There  is  no  ideal  of  faith 
or  of  purity  that  does  not  live  in  countless  women 
to-day.  I  believe  that;  but  could  I  not  recall  one 
friend  who  walked  with  Divinity  through  pine 
woods  for  one  immortal  spring,  and  who,  being 
sick  to  death,  was  quite  finished — learning  her 
at  last?  Did  I  not  know  lovers  who  believed 
sacred  to  themselves,  in  the  name  of  love,  lips 
that  had  been  given  to  many  another  without  it? 
And  now  did  I  not  know — but  I  knew  too  much, 
and  to  Grayson  I  said  nothing. 

That  spring  the  "  boom  "  came.  Grayson's 
property  quadrupled  in  value  and  quadrupled 
again.  I  was  his  lawyer,  and  I  plead  with  him 
to  sell ;  but  Grayson  laughed.  He  was  not  spec- 
ulating; he  had  invested  on  judgment;  he  would 
sell  only  at  a  certain  figure.  The  figure  was 
141 


A  PURPLE  EHODODENBEON 


actually  reached,  and  Grayson  let  half  go.  The 
boom  fell,  and  Grayson  took  the  tumble  with  a 
jest.  It  would  come  again  in  the  autumn,  he  said, 
and  he  went  off  to  meet  the  girl  at  White  Sul- 
phur. 

I  worked  right  hard  that  summer,  but  I  missed 
him,  and  I  surely  was  glad  when  he  came  back. 
Something  was  wrong;  I  saw  it  at  once.  He  did 
not  mention  her  name,  and  for  a  while  he  avoided 
even  me.  I  sought  him  then,  and  gradually  I 
got  him  into  our  old  habit  of  walking  up  into  the 
Gap  and  of  sitting  out  after  supper  on  a  big  rock 
in  the  valley,  listening  to  the  run  of  the  river 
and  watching  the  afterglow  over  the  Cumber- 
land, the  moon  rise  over  Wallen's  Ridge  and  the 
stars  come  out.  Waiting  for  him  to  speak,  I 
learned  for  the  first  time  then  another  secret  of 
his  wretched  melancholy.  It  was  the  hopeless- 
ness of  that  time  perhaps,  that  disclosed  it. 
Grayson  had  lost  the  faith  of  his  childhood. 
Most  men  do  that  at  some  time  or  other,  but 
Grayson  had  no  business,  no  profession,  no  art 
in  which  to  find  relief.  Indeed,  there  was  but 
one  substitute  possible,  and  that  came  like  a  gift 
straight  from  the  God  whom  he  denied.  Love 
came,  and  Grayson's  ideals  of  love,  as  of  every- 
thing else,  were  morbid  and  quixotic.  He  be- 
lieved that  he  owed  it  to  the  woman  he  should 
marry  never  to  have  loved  another.  He  had 
142 


A  PUKPLE  KHODODENDKOJST 


loved  but  one  woman,  he  said,  and  he  should 
love  but  one.  I  believed  him  then  literally  when 
he  said  that  his  love  for  the  Kentucky  girl  was 
his  religion  now — the  only  anchor  left  him  in 
his  sea  of  troubles,  the  only  star  that  gave  him 
guiding  light.    Without  this  love,  what  then? 

I  had  a  strong  impulse  to  ask  him,  but  Grayson 
shivered,  as  though  he  divined  my  thought,  and, 
in  some  relentless  way,  our  talk  drifted  to  the 
question  of  suicide.  I  was  not  surprised  that  he 
rather  defended  it.  Neither  of  us  said  anything 
new,  only  I  did  not  like  the  way  he  talked.  He 
was  too  deliberate,  too  serious,  as  though  he  were 
really  facing  a  possible  fact.  He  had  no  relig- 
ious scruples,  he  said,  no  family  ties;  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  bringing  himself  into  life; 
why — if  it  was  not  worth  living,  not  bearable — 
why  should  he  not  end  it?  He  gave  the  usual 
authority,  and  I  gave  the  usual  answer.  Religion 
aside,  if  we  did  not  know  that  we  were  here  for 
some  purpose,  we  did  not  know  that  we  were  not ; 
and  here  we  were  anyway,  and  our  duty  was 
plain.  Desertion  was  the  act  of  a  coward,  and 
that  Grayson  could  not  deny. 

That  autumn  the  crash  of  '91  came  across  the 
water  from  England,  and  Grayson  gave  up.  He 
went  to  Richmond,  and  came  back  with  money 
enough  to  pay  off  his  notes,  and  I  think  it  took 
nearly  all  he  had.  Still,  he  played  poker  steadily 
H3 


A  PUEPLI,  EHODODENDEON 

/ 

now- — for  poker  had  been  resumed  when  it  was 
no  longer  possible  to  gamble  in  lots — he  drank 
a  good  deal,  and  he  began  just  at  this  time  to 
take  a  singular  interest  in  our  volunteer  police 
guard.  He  had  always  been  on  hand  when  there 
was  trouble,  and  I  shan't  soon  forget  him  the 
day  Senator  Mahone  spoke,  when  we  were 
punching  a  crowd  of  mountaineers  back  with 
cocked  Winchesters.  He  had  lost  his  hat  in  a 
struggle  with  one  giant;  he  looked  half  crazy 
with  anger,  and  yet  he  was  white  and  perfectly 
cool,  and  I  noticed  that  he  never  had  to  tell  a 
man  but  once  to  stand  back.  Now  he  was  the 
first  man  to  answer  a  police  whistle.  When  we 
were  guarding  Talt  Hall,  he  always  volunteered 
when  there  was  any  unusual  risk  to  run.  When 
we  raided  the  Pound  to  capture  a  gang  of  des- 
peradoes, he  insisted  on  going  ahead  as  spy;  and 
when  we  got  restless  lying  out  in  the  woods  wait- 
ing for  daybreak,  and  the  captain  suggested  a 
charge  on  the  cabin,  Grayson  was  by  his  side 
when  it  was  made.  Grayson  sprang  through  the 
door  first,  and  he  was  the  man  wTho  thrust  his 
reckless  head  up  into  the  loft  and  lighted  a  match 
to  see  if  the  murderers  were  there.  Most  of  us 
did  foolish  things  in  those  days  under  stress  of 
excitement,  but  Grayson,  I  saw,  was  weak  enough 
to  be  reckless.  His  trouble  with  the  girl,  what- 
ever it  was,  was  serious  enough  to  make  him  ap- 
144 


A  PUEPLE  KHODODEKDKON" 


parently  care  little  whether  he  were  alive  or  dead 
And  still  I  saw  that  not  yet  even  had  he  lost  hope. 
He  was  having  a  sore  fight  with  his  pride,  and 
he  got  body-worn  and  heart-sick  over  it.  Of 
course  he  was  worsted,  and  in  the  end,  from  sheer 
weakness,  he  went  back  to  her  once  more. 

I  shall  never  see  another  face  like  his  when 
Grayson  came  back  that  last  time.  I  never  no- 
ticed before  that  there  were  silver  hairs  about  his 
temples.  He  stayed  in  his  room,  and  had  his 
meals  sent  to  him.  He  came  out  only  to  ride, 
and  then  at  night.  Waking  the  third  morning 
at  daybreak,  I  saw  him  through  the  window  gal- 
loping past,  and  I  knew  he  had  spent  the  night 
on  Black  Mountain.  I  went  to  his  room  as  soon 
as  I  got  up,  and  Grayson  was  lying  across  his 
bed  with  his  face  down,  his  clothes  on,  and  in 
his  right  hand  was  a  revolver.  I  reeled  into  a 
chair  before  I  had  strength  enough  to  bend  over 
him,  and  when  I  did  I  found  him  asleep.  I  left 
him  as  he  was,  and  I  never  let  him  know  that  I 
had  been  to  his  room ;  but  I  got  him  out  on  the 
rock  again  that  night,  and  I  turned  our  talk  again 
to  suicide.  I  said  it  was  small,  mean,  cowardly, 
criminal,  contemptible!  I  was  savagely  in  ear- 
nest, and  Grayson  shivered  and  said  not  a  word. 
I  thought  he  was  in  better  mind  after  that.  We 
got  to  taking  night  rides  again,  and  I  stayed 
as  closely  to  him  as  I  could,  for  times  got  worse 


H5 


A  PUEPLE  EHODODENDKON 

and  trouble  was  upon  everybody.  Notes  fell 
thicker  than  snowflakes,  and,  through  the  foolish 
policy  of  the  company,  foreclosures  had  to  be 
made.  Grayson  went  to  the  wall  like  the  rest 
of  us.  I  asked  him  what  he  had  done  with  the 
money  he  had  made.  He  had  given  away  a 
great  deal  to  poorer  kindred;  he  had  paid  his 
dead  father's  debts;  he  had  played  away  a 
good  deal,  and  he  had  lost  the  rest.  His  faith 
was  still  imperturbable.  He  had  a  dozen  rect- 
angles of  "  dirt,"  and  from  these,  he  said,  it 
would  all  come  back  some  day.  Still,  he  felt  the 
sudden  poverty  keenly,  but  he  faced  it  as  he  did 
any  other  physical  fact  in  life — dauntless.  He 
used  to  be  fond  of  saying  that  no  one  thing  could 
make  him  miserable.  But  he  would  talk  with 
mocking  earnestness  about  some  much-dreaded 
combination;  and  a  favorite  phrase  of  his — 
which  got  to  have  peculiar  significance — was 
"  the  cohorts  of  hell,"  who  closed  in  on  him  when 
he  was  sick  and  weak,  and  who  fell  back  when 
he  got  well.  He  had  one  strange  habit,  too, 
from  which  I  got  comfort.  He  would  deliber- 
ately walk  into  and  defy  any  temptation  that 
beset  him.  That  was  the  way  he  strengthened 
himself,  he  said.  I  knew  what  his  temptation 
was  now,  and  I  thought  of  this  habit  when  I 
found  him  asleep  with  his  revolver,  and  I  got 
hope  from  it  now,  when  the  dreaded  combination 
146 


A  PUKPLE  KHODODEKDKON 


(whatever  that  was)  seemed  actually  to  have 
come. 

I  could  see  now  that  he  got  worse  daily.  He 
stopped  his  mockeries,  his  occasional  fits  of  reck- 
less gayety.  He  stopped  poker — resolutely— 
he  couldn't  afford  to  lose  now;  and,  what  puz- 
zled me,  he  stopped  drinking.  The  man  simply 
looked  tired,  always  hopelessly  tired;  and  I  could 
believe  him  sincere  in  all  his  foolish  talk  about 
his  blessed  Nirvana:  which  was  the  peace  he 
craved,  which  was  end  enough  for  him. 

Winter  broke.  May  drew  near;  and  one  af- 
ternoon, when  Grayson  and  I  took  our  walk  up 
through  the  Gap,  he  carried  along  a  huge  spy- 
glass of  mine,  which  had  belonged  to  a  famous 
old  desperado,  who  watched  his  enemies  with  it 
from  the  mountain-tops.  We  both  helped  cap- 
ture him,  and  I  defended  him.  He  was  sentenced 
to  hang — the  glass  was  my  fee.  We  sat  down 
opposite  Bee  Rock,  and  for  the  first  time  Grayson 
told  me  of  that  last  scene  with  her.  He  spoke 
without  bitterness,  and  he  told  me  what  she  said, 
word  for  word,  without  a  breath  of  blame  for 
her.  I  do  not  believe  that  he  judged  her  at  all; 
she  did  not  know — he  always  said;  she  did  not 
know;  and  then,  when  I  opened  my  lips,  Gray- 
son reached  silently  for  my  wrist,  and  I  can  feel 
again  the  warning  crush  of  his  fingers,  and  I 
say  nothing  against  her  now. 

147 


A  PUKPLE  BHODODEXDBON 


I  asked  Grayson  what  his  answer  was. 

"  I  asked  her,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  if  she  had 
even  seen  a  purple  rhododendron.' ' 

I  almost  laughed,  picturing  the  scene — the 
girl  bewildered  by  his  absurd  question — Grayson 
calm,  superbly  courteous.  It  was  a  mental  pe- 
culiarity of  his — this  irrelevancy — and  it  was  like 
him  to  end  a  matter  of  life  and  death  in  just  that 
way. 

"  I  told  her  I  should  send  her  one.  I  am 
waiting  for  them  to  come  out,"  he  added;  and 
he  lay  back  with  his  head  against  a  stone  and 
sighted  the  telescope  on  a  dizzy  point,  about 
which  buzzards  were  circling. 

"  There  is  just  one  bush  of  rhododendron  up 
there,"  he  went  on.  "I  saw  it  looking  down 
from  the  Point  last  spring.  I  imagine  it  must 
blossom  earlier  than  that  across  there  on  Bee 
Rock,  being  always  in  the  sun.  No,  it's  not  bud- 
ding yet,"  he  added,  with  his  eye  to  the  glass. 
"  You  see  that  ledge  just  to  the  left?  I  dropped 
a  big  rock  from  the  Point  square  on  a  rattler 
who  was  sunning  himself  there  last  spring.  I 
can  see  a  foothold  all  the  way  up  the  cliff.  It 
can  be  done,"  he  concluded,  in  a  tone  that  made 
me  turn  sharply  upon  him. 

"  Do  you  really  mean  to  climb  up  there?  "  I 
asked,  harshly. 

"  If  it  blossoms  first  up  there — I'll  get  it  where 
148 


A  PUEPLE  KHODODEKDKON 


it  blooms  first. "  In  a  moment  I  was  angry  and 
half  sick  with  suspicion,  for  I  knew  his  obstinacy; 
and  then  began  what  I  am  half  ashamed  to  tell. 

Every  day  thereafter  Grayson  took  that  glass 
with  him,  and  I  went  along  to  humor  him.  I 
watched  Bee  Rock,  and  he  that  one  bush  at  the 
throat  of  the  peak — neither  of  us  talking  over 
the  matter  again.  It  was  uncanny,  that  rivalry 
— sun  and  wind  in  one  spot,  sun  and  wind  in  an- 
other— Nature  herself  casting  the  fate  of  a  half- 
crazed  fool  with  a  flower.  It  was  utterly  absurd, 
but  I  got  nervous  over  it — apprehensive,  dismal. 

A  week  later  it  rained  for  two  days,  and  the 
water  was  high.  The  next  day  the  sun  shone, 
and  that  afternoon  Grayson  smiled,  looking 
through  the  glass,  and  handed  it  to  me.  I  knew 
what  I  should  see.  One  purple  cluster,  full 
blown,  was  shaking  in  the  wind.  Grayson  was 
leaning  back  in  a  dream  when  I  let  the  glass 
down.  A  cool  breath  from  the  woods  behind 
us  brought  the  odor  of  roots  and  of  black  earth; 
up  in  the  leaves  and  sunlight  somewhere  a  wood- 
thrush  was  singing,  and  I  saw  in  Grayson's  face 
what  I  had  not  seen  for  a  long  time,  and  that 
was  peace — the  peace  of  stubborn  purpose.  He 
did  not  come  for  me  the  next  day,  nor  the  next; 
but  the  next  he  did,  earlier  than  usual. 

"  I  am  going  to  get  that  rhododendron,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  been  half-way  up — it  can  be 
149 


A  PUEPLE  EHODODENDKON" 


reached."  So  had  I  been  half-way  up.  With 
nerve  and  agility  the  flower  could  be  got,  and 
both  these  Grayson  had.  If  he  had  wanted  to 
climb  up  there  and  drop,  he  could  have  done  it 
alone,  and  he  would  have  known  that  I  should 
have  found  him.  Grayson  was  testing  himself 
again,  and,  angry  with  him  for  the  absurdity  of 
the  thing  and  with  myself  for  humoring  it,  but 
still  not  sure  of  him,  I  picked  up  my  hat  and 
went.  I  swore  to  myself  silently  that  it  was  the 
last  time  I  should  pay  any  heed  to  his  whims. 
I  believed  this  would  be  the  last.  The  affair 
with  the  girl  was  over.  The  flower  sent,  I  knew 
Grayson  would  never  mention  her  name  again. 

Nature  was  radiant  that  afternoon.  The 
mountains  had  the  leafy  luxuriance  of  June,  and 
a  rich,  sunlit  haze  drowsed  on  them  between  the 
shadows  starting  out  over  the  valley  and  the 
clouds  so  white  that  the  blue  of  the  sky  looked 
dark.  Two  eagles  shot  across  the  mouth  of  the 
Gap  as  we  neared  it,  and  high  beyond  buzzards 
were  sailing  over  Grayson's  rhododendron. 

I  went  up  the  ravine  with  him  and  I  climbed 
up  behind  him — Grayson  going  very  deliberately 
and  whistling  softly.  He  called  down  to  me 
when  he  reached  the  shelf  that  looked  half-way. 

"  You  mustn't  come  any  farther  than  this,"  he 
said.  "  Get  out  on  that  rock  and  I'll  drop  them 
down  to  you." 

150 


A  PTTEPLE  BHODODENDEON" 


Then  he  jumped  from  the  ledge  and  caught 
the  body  of  a  small  tree  close  to  the  roots,  and 
my  heart  sank  at  such  recklessness  and  all  my 
fears  rose  again.  I  scrambled  hastily  to  the 
ledge,  but  I  could  get  no  farther.  I  might  pos- 
sibly make  the  jump  he  had  made — but  how 
should  I  ever  get  back?  How  would  he?  I 
called  angrily  after  him  now,  and  he  wouldn't 
answer  me.  I  called  him  a  fool,  a  coward;  I 
stamped  the  ledge  like  a  child — but  Grayson 
kept  on,  foot  after  hand,  with  stealthy  caution, 
and  the  purple  cluster  nodding  down  at  him 
made  my  head  whirl.  I  had  to  lie  down  to  keep 
from  tumbling  from  the  ledge ;  and  there  on  my 
side,  gripping  a  pine  bush,  I  lay  looking  up  at 
him.  He  was  close  to  the  flowers  now,  and  just 
before  he  took  the  last  upward  step  he  turned 
and  looked  down  that  awful  height  with  as  calm 
a  face  as  though  he  could  have  dropped  and 
floated  unhurt  to  the  ravine  beneath. 

Then  with  his  left  hand  he  caught  the  ledge 
to  the  left,  strained  up,  and,  holding  thus, 
reached  out  with  his  right.  The  hand  closed 
about  the  cluster,  and  the  twig  was  broken. 
Grayson  gave  a  great  shout  then.  He  turned  his 
head  as  though  to  drop  them  and,  that  far  away, 
I  heard  the  sibilant  whir  of  rattles.  I  saw  a 
snake's  crest  within  a  yard  of  his  face,  and, 
my  God!  I  saw  Grayson  loose  his  left  hand  to 
151 


A  PURPLE  RHODODENDRON 


guard  it!  The  snake  struck  at  his  arm,  and 
Grayson  reeled  and  caught  back  once  at  the  ledge 
with  his  left  hand.  He  caught  once,  I  say,  to 
do  him  full  justice;  then,  without  a  word,  he 
dropped — and  I  swear  there  was  a  smile  on  his 
face  when  he  shot  down  past  me  into  the  trees. 

I  found  him  down  there  in  the  ravine  with 
nearly  every  bone  in  his  body  crushed.  His  left 
arm  was  under  him,  and  outstretched  in  his  right 
hand  was  the  shattered  cluster,  with  every  blos- 
som gone  but  one.  One  white  half  of  his  face 
was  unmarked,  and  on  it  was  still  the  shadow  of 
a  smile.  I  think  it  meant  more  than  that  Gray- 
son believed  that  he  was  near  peace  at  last.  It 
meant  that  Fate  had  done  the  deed  for  him  and 
that  he  was  glad.  Whether  he  would  have  done 
it  himself,  I  do  not  know ;  and  that  is  why  I  say 
that  though  Grayson  brought  the  flower  down- 
smiling  from  peak  to  ravine — I  do  not  know  that 
he  was  not,  after  all,  a  coward. 

That  night  I  wrote  to  the  woman  in  Kentucky. 
I  told  her  that  Grayson  had  fallen  from  a  clift 
while  climbing  for  flowers;  and  that  he  was  dead. 
Along  with  these  words,  I  sent  a  purple  rhodo- 
dendron. 


152 


IN  HAPPY  VALLEY 


TO 

HOPE 

LITTLE  DAUGHTER 
OF 

RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


PREACHING  at  the  open-air  meeting-house 
was  just  over  and  the  citizens  of  Happy 
Valley  were  pouring  out  of  the  benched  en- 
closure within  living  walls  of  rhododendron. 
Men,  women,  children,  babes  in  arms  mounted 
horse  or  mule  or  strolled  in  family  groups  home- 
ward up  or  down  the  dusty  road.  Youths  and 
maids  paired  off,  dallying  behind.  Emerged 
last  one  rich,  dark,  buxom  girl  alone.  Twenty 
yards  down  the  road  two  young  mountaineers 
were  squatted  in  the  shade  whittling,  and  to 
one  she  nodded.  The  other  was  a  stranger — 
one  Jay  Dawn — and  the  stare  he  gave  her  was 
not  only  bold  but  impudent. 

"Who's  goin'  home  with  that  gal?'"  she 
heard  him  ask. 

"  Nobody,"  was  the  answer;  "  that  gal  al- 
*ays  goes  home  alone."  She  heard  his  snort  of 
incredulity. 

"  Well,  I'm  goin'  with  her  right  now."  The 
other  man  caught  his  arm. 

"  No,  you  ain't  " — and  she  heard  no  more. 
Athwart  the  wooded  spur  she  strode  like  a 

155 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


man.  Her  full  cheeks  and  lips  were  red  and  her 
black,  straight  hair  showed  Indian  blood,  of 
which  she  was  not  ashamed.  On  top  of  the 
spur  a  lank  youth  with  yellow  hair  stood  in  the 
path. 

"  How-dye,  Allaphair !  "  he  called  uneasily, 
while  she  was  yet  some  yards  away. 

"  How-dye !  "  she  said  unsmiling  and  strid- 
ing on  toward  him  with  level  eyes. 

"  Allaphair,"  he  pleaded  quickly,  "  lem- 
me  " 

"  Git  out  o'  my  way,  Jim  Spurgill."  The 
boy  stepped  quickly  from  the  path  and  she 
swept  past  him. 

"  Allaphair,  lemme  walk  home  with  ye."  The 
girl  neither  answered  nor  turned  her  head, 
though  she  heard  his  footsteps  behind  her. 

"  Allaphair,  uh,  Allaphair,  please  lemme — " 
He  broke  off  abruptly  and  sprang  behind  a  tree, 
for  Allaphair's  ungentle  ways  were  widely 
known.  The  girl  had  stooped  for  a  stone  and 
was  wheeling  with  it  in  her  hand.  Gingerly  the 
boy  poked  his  head  out  from  behind  the  tree, 
prepared  to  dodge. 

"  You're  wuss'n  a  she-wolf  in  sucklin'  time," 
he  grumbled,  and  the  girl  did  not  seem  dis- 
pleased. Indeed,  there  was  a  grim  smile  on  her 
scarlet  lips  when  she  dropped  the  stone  and 
stalked  on.    It  was  almost  an  hour  before  she 

156 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


crossed  a  foot-log  and  took  the  level  sandy  curve 
about  a  little  bluff,  whence  she  could  see  the 
two-roomed  log  cabin  that  was  home.  There 
were  flowers  in  the  little  yard  and  morning- 
glories  covered  the  small  porch,  for,  boyish  as 
she  was,  she  loved  flowers  and  growing  things. 
A  shrill  cry  of  welcome  greeted  her  at  the  gate, 
and  she  swept  the  baby  sister  toddling  toward 
her  high  above  her  head,  fondled  her  in  her 
arms,  and  stopped  on  the  threshold.  Within 
was  another  man,  slight  and  pale  and  a  stranger. 

"  This  is  the  new  school-teacher,  Allaphair," 
said  her  mother.   "  He  calls  hisself  Iry  Combs.'5 

"  How-dye  !  "  said  the  girl,  but  the  slight  man 
rose  and  came  forward  to  shake  hands.  She 
flashed  a  frown  at  her  mother  a  moment  later, 
behind  the  stranger's  back;  teachers  boarded 
around  and  he  might  be  there  for  a  week  and 
perhaps  more.  The  teacher  was  mountain  born 
and  bred,  but  he  had  been  to  the  Bluegrass  to 
school,  and  he  had  brought  back  certain  little 
niceties  of  dress,  bearing,  and  speech  that  irri- 
tated the  girl.  He  ate  slowly  and  little,  for  he 
had  what  he  called  indigestion,  whatever  that 
was.  Distinctly  he  was  shy,  and  his  only  vague 
appeal  to  her  was  in  his  eyes,  which  were  big, 
dark,  and  lonely. 

It  was  a  disgrace  for  Allaphair  to  have  reached 
her  years  of  one-and-twenty  without  marrying, 

157 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


and  the  disgrace  was  just  then  her  mother's 
favorite  theme.  Feeling  rather  poorly,  the  old 
woman  began  on  it  that  afternoon.  Allaphair 
had  gone  out  to  the  woodpile  and  was  picking 
up  an  armful  of  fire-wood,  and  the  mother  had 
followed  her.    Said  Allaphair: 

"  I  tell  you  agin  an'  agin  I  hain't  got  no  use 
fer  'em — a-totin'  guns  an'  knives  an'  a-drinkin' 
moonshine  an'  fightin'  an'  breakin'  up  meetin's 
an'  lazin'  aroun'  ginerally.  An'  when  they  ain't 
that  way,"  she  added  contemptuously,  "  they're 
like  that  un  thar.  Look  at  him !  "  She  broke 
into  a  loud  laugh.  Ira  Combs  had  volunteered 
to  milk,  and  the  old  cow  had  just  kicked  him 
over  in  the  mud.  He  rose  red  with  shame  and 
anger — she  felt  more  than  she  saw  the  flash  of 
his  eyes — and  valiantly  and  silently  he  went 
back  to  his  task.  Somehow  the  girl  felt  a  pang 
of  pity  for  him,  for  already  she  saw  in  his  eyes 
the  telltale  look  that  she  knew  so  well  in  the 
eyes  of  men.  With  his  kind  it  would  go  hard; 
and  right  she  was  to  the  detail. 

She  herself  went  to  St.  Hilda  to  work  and 
learn,  but  one  morning  she  passed  his  little 
schoolhouse  just  as  he  was  opening  for  the  day. 
From  a  gable  the  flag  of  her  country  waved,  and 
she  stopped  mystified.  And  then  from  the 
green,  narrow  little  valley  floated  up  to  her 
wondering  ears  a  song.    Abruptly  it  broke  off 

158 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


and  started  again;  he  was  teaching  the  children 
the  song  of  her  own  land,  which  she  and  they 
had  never  heard  before.  It  was  almost  sunset 
when  she  came  back  and  the  teacher  was  start- 
ing for  home.  He  was  ahead  of  her — she  knew 
he  had  seen  her  coming — but  he  did  not  wait 
for  her,  nor  did  he  look  back  while  she  was  fol- 
lowing him  all  the  way  home.  And  next  Sun- 
day he  too  went  to  church,  and  after  meeting 
he  started  for  home  alone  and  she  followed  alone. 
He  had  never  made  any  effort  to  speak  to  her 
alone,  nor  did  he  venture  the  courting  pleasant- 
ries of  other  men.  Only  in  his  telltale  eyes  was 
his  silent  story  plain,  and  she  knew  it  better 
than  if  he  had  put  it  into  words.  In  spite  of 
her  certainty,  however,  she  was  a  little  resentful 
that  Sunday  morning,  for  his  slender  figure 
climbed  doggedly  ahead,  and  suddenly  she  sat 
down  that  he  might  get  entirely  out  of  her  sight. 

She  got  down  on  her  hands  and  knees  to  drink 
from  the  little  rain-clear  brook  that  tinkled 
across  the  road  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and 
all  at  once  lifted  her  head  like  a  wild  thing. 
Some  one  was  coming  down  the  hill — coming  at 
a  dog-trot.  A  moment  later  her  name  was 
called,  and  it  was  the  voice  of  a  stranger.  She 
knew  it  was  Jay  Dawn,  for  she  had  heard  of 
him — had  heard  of  his  boast  that  he  would  keep 
company  with  her — and  she  kept  swiftly  on. 

159 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


Again  and  again  he  called,  but  she  paid  no  heed. 
She  glared  at  him  fiercely  when  he  caught  up 
with  her — and  stopped.  He  stopped.  She 
walked  on  and  he  walked  on.  He  caught  her 
by  the  arm  when  she  stopped  again,  and  she 
threw  off  his  hold  with  a  force  that  wheeled  him 
half  around,  and  started  off  on  a  run.  She 
stooped  when  she  next  heard  him  close  to  her 
and  whirled,  with  a  stone  in  her  hand. 

"  Go  'way  !  "  she  panted.  "  I'll  brain  ye  !  " 
He  laughed,  but  he  came  no  nearer. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  as  though  giving  up  the 
chase,  but  when  she  turned  the  next  spur  there 
Jay  was  waiting  for  her  by  the  side  of  the  road. 

"  How-dye,"  he  grinned.  Three  times  he  cut 
across  ledge  and  spur  and  gave  her  a  grinning 
how-dye.  The  third  time  she  was  ready  for  him 
and  she  let  fly.  The  first  stone  whistled  past 
his  head  with  astonishing  speed.  The  second 
he  dodged  and  the  third  caught  him  between 
the  shoulders  as  he  leaped  for  a  tree  with  an 
oath  and  a  yell.  And  there  she  left  him,  swear- 
ing horribly  and  frankly  at  her. 

Jay  Dawn  did  not  go  back  to  logging  that 
week.  Report  was  that  he  had  gone  to  "  court- 
in'  an'  throwin'  rocks  at  woodpeckers."  Both 
statements  were  true,  but  Jay  was  courting  at 
long  range.  He  hung  about  her  house  a  great 
deal.  Going  to  mill,  looking  for  her  cow,  to  and 
1 60 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


fro  from  the  mission,  Allaphair  never  failed  to 
see  Jay  Dawn.  He  always  spoke  and  he  never 
got  answer.  He  always  grinned,  but  his  eye 
was  threatening.  To  the  school-teacher  he  soon 
began  to  give  special  notice,  for  that  was  what 
Allaphair  seemed  to  be  doing  herself.  He  saw 
them  sitting  in  the  porch  together  alone,  going 
out  to  milk  or  to  the  woodpile.  Passing  her 
gate  one  flower-scented  dusk,  he  heard  the  drone 
of  their  voices  behind  the  morning-glory  vines 
and  heard  her  laugh  quite  humanly.  He  snorted 
his  disgust,  but  once  when  he  saw  the  girl  walk- 
ing home  with  the  teacher  from  school  he  seethed 
with  rage  and  bided  his  time  for  both.  He  did 
spend  much  time  throwing  at  woodpeckers,  os- 
tensibly, but  he  was  not  practising  for  a  rock 
duel  with  Allaphair.  He  had  picked  out  the 
level  stretch  of  sandy  road  not  far  from  Alla- 
phair's  house,  which  was  densely  lined  with 
rhododendron  and  laurel,  and  was  carefully  de- 
nuding it  of  stones.  When  any  one  came  along 
he  was  playing  David  with  the  birds;  a  moment 
later  he  was  "  a-workin'  the  public  road,"  but 
not  to  make  the  going  easier  for  the  none  too 
dainty  feet  of  Allaphair.  Indeed,  the  girl  twice 
saw  him  at  his  peculiar  diversion,  but  all  sus- 
picion was  submerged  in  scorn. 

The  following  Sunda}/  things  happened.  On 
the  way  from  church  the  girl  had  come  to  the 
161 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


level  stretch  of  sand.  Beyond  the  vine-clad 
bluff  and  "  a  whoop  and  a  holler  "  further  on 
was  home.  Midway  of  the  stretch  Jay  Dawn 
stepped  from  the  bushes  and  blocked  her  way, 
and  with  him  were  his  grin  and  his  threatening 
eye. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  kiss  ye,"  he  said.  Right,  left, 
and  behind  she  looked  for  a  stone,  and  he 
laughed. 

"Thar  hain't  a  rock  between  that  poplar 
back  thar  and  that  poplar  thar  at  the  bluff; 
the  woodpeckers  done  got  'em  all."  There  was 
no  use  to  run — the  girl  knew  she  was  trapped 
and  her  breast  began  to  heave.  Slowly  he 
neared  her,  with  one  hand  outstretched,  as 
though  he  were  going  to  halter  a  wild  horse, 
but  she  did  not  give  ground.  When  she  slapped 
at  his  hand  he  caught  her  by  one  wrist,  and 
then  with  lightning  quickness  by  the  other. 
Quickly  she  bent  her  head,  caught  one  of  his 
wrists  with  her  teeth,  and  bit  it  to  the  bone,  so 
that  with  an  open  cry  of  pain  he  threw  her  loose. 
Then  she  came  at  him  with  her  fists  like  a  man, 
and  she  fought  like  a  man.  Blow  after  blow 
she  rained  on  him,  and  one  on  the  chin  made 
him  stagger.  He  could  not  hit  back,  so  he  closed 
in,  and  then  it  was  cavewoman  and  caveman. 
He  expected  her  to  bite  again  and  scratch,  but 
she  did  neither — nor  did  she  cry  for  help.  She 
162 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


kept  on  like  a  man,  and  after  one  blow  in  his 
stomach  which  made  him  sick  she  grappled  like 
a  wrestler,  which  she  was,  and  but  for  his  own 
quickness  would  have  thrown  him  over  her  left 
knee.  Each  was  in  the  straining  embrace  of  the 
other  now,  and  her  heaving  breast  was  crushed 
against  his,  and  for  a  moment  he  stood  still. 

"  This  suits  me  exactly,"  he  cackled,  and  that 
made  her  furious  and  turned  her  woman  again. 
To  keep  her  now  from  biting  him  he  thrust  his 
right  forearm  under  her  chin  and  bent  her  slowly 
backward.  Her  right  fist  beat  his  muscular 
back  harmlessly — she  caught  him  by  the  hair, 
but  unmindful  he  bent  her  slowly  on. 

"  Fll  have  ye  killed,"  she  said  savagely — 
"  I'll  have  ye  killed  and  then  suddenly  he 
felt  her  collapse,  submissive,  and  his  lips  caught 
hers. 

"  Thar  now,"  he  said,  letting  her  loose;  "  you 
need  a  leetle  tamin',  you  do,"  and  he  turned  and 
walked  slowly  away.  The  girl  dropped  to  the 
ground,  weeping.  But  there  was  an  exultant 
look  in  her  eyes  before  she  reached  home. 

The  teacher  was  sitting  in  the  porch. 

"  He  never  would  'a'  done  it,"  she  muttered, 
and  she  hardly  spoke  to  him. 

A  message  from  Jay  Dawn  reached  the  school- 
teacher the  morning  after  the  "  running  of  a 
163 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


set  "  at  the  settlement  school.  Jay  had  in- 
furiated Allaphair  by  his  attentions  to  Polly 
Stidham  from  Quicksand.  Allaphair  had  flirted 
outrageously  with  Ira  Combs  the  teacher,  and 
in  turn  Jay  got  angry,  not  at  her  but  at  the  man. 
So  he  sent  word  that  he  would  come  down  the 
next  Saturday  and  knock  "  that  mullet-headed, 
mealy-mouthed,  spindle-shanked  rat  into  the 
middle  of  next  week,"  and  drive  him  from  the 
hills. 

"  Whut  you  goin'  to  do  about  it  ? "  asked 
Allaphair,  secretly  thrilled.  To  her  surprise  the 
little  man  seemed  neither  worried  nor  frightened. 

"  Nothing,"  he  said,  adding  the  final  g  with 
irritating  precision;  "  but  I  have  never  backed 
out  of  a  fight  in  my  life."  Allaphair  could  hardly 
hold  back  a  hoot  of  contempt. 

"  Why,  he'll  break  you  to  pieces  with  his 
hands." 

"  Perhaps — if  he  gets  hold  of  me."  The  girl 
almost  shrieked. 

"  You  hain't  going  to  run  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  going  to  run;  it's  no  disgrace  to  get 
licked." 

"  But  if  he  crows  over  ye  atterwards — 
whut  11  you  do  then  ?  " 

The  teacher  made  no  answer,  nor  did  he  an- 
swer Jay's  message.  He  merely  went  his  way, 
which  was  neither  to  avoid  nor  seek;  so  Jay 
164 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


sought  him.  Allaphair  saw  him  the  next  Friday 
afternoon,  waiting  by  the  roadside — waiting, 
no  doubt,  for  Ira  Combs.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  cross  over  the  spur  and  warn  the  teacher,  but 
curiosity  as  to  just  what  the  little  man  would 
do  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  slipped  aside 
into  the  bushes  and  crept  noiselessly  to  a  spot 
whence  she  could  peer  out  and  see  and  hear  all 
that  might  happen.  Soon  she  saw  the  school- 
teacher coming,  as  was  his  wont,  leisurely,  look- 
ing at  the  ground  at  his  feet  and  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back.  He  did  not  see  the 
threatening  figure  waiting  until  Jay  rose. 

"  Stop  thar,  little  Iry,"  he  sneered,  and  he 
whipped  out  his  revolver  and  fired.  The  girl 
nearly  screamed,  but  the  bullet  cut  into  the 
dust  near  Ira's  right  foot. 

"  Yuh  danced  purty  well  t'other  night,  an'  I 
want  to  see  ye  dance  some  more  by  yo'self.  Git 
at  it !  "  He  raised  his  gun  again  and  the  school- 
teacher raised  one  hand.  He  had  grown  very 
red  and  as  suddenly  very  pale,  but  he  did  not 
look  frightened. 

"  You  can  kill  me,"  he  drawled  quietly,  "  but 
I'm  not  going  to  dance  for  you.  Suppose  you 
whoop  me  instead — I  heard  that  was  your  in- 
tention."  Jay  laughed. 

"  Air  ye  goin'  to  fight  me  ?  "  he  asked  in- 
credulously. 

165 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


"  I'd  rather  be  licked  than  dance.5' 

"  All  right,"  said  Jay.  "  I'll  lam'  ye  aroun' 
a  little  an1  spank  ye  good  an?  mebbe  make  ye 
dance  atterwards."  He  unbuckled  his  pistol 
and  tossed  it  into  the  grass  by  the  roadside. 

"  Will  you  fight  fair  ?  99  asked  Ira,  still  formal 
in  speech.    u  No  wrestling,  biting,  or  gouging." 

"  No  wrasslin',  no  bitin',  no  gougin'," 
mimicked  Jay,  beginning  to  revolve  his  huge 
fists  around  each  other  in  country  fashion.  The 
little  man  waited,  his  left  arm  outstretched  and 
bent  and  his  right  across  and  close  to  his  chest, 
and  the  watching  girl  almost  groaned.  Still  his 
white,  calm  face,  his  steady  eyes,  and  his  lithe 
poise  fascinated  her.  She  would  not  let  Jay 
hurt  him  badly — she  would  come  out  and  take  a 
hand  herself.  Jay  opened  one  fist,  and  with  his 
open  hand  made  a  powerful,  contemptuous 
sweep  at  Ira's  head,  and  the  girl  expected  to  see 
the  little  teacher  fly  off  into  the  bushes  and  the 
fight  over.  To  her  amazement  Ira  gave  no 
ground  at  all.  His  feet  never  moved,  but  like  a 
blacksnake's  head  his  own  darted  back;  Jay's 
great  hand  fanned  the  air,  and  as  his  own  force 
whirled  him  half  around,  Allaphair  had  to  hold 
back  a  screech  of  laughter,  for  Ira  had  slapped 
him.  Jay  looked  puzzled,  but  with  fists  clinched, 
he  rushed  fiercely.  Right  and  left  he  swung,  but 
the  teacher  was  never  there.  Presently  there 
1 66 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


was  another  stinging  smack  on  his  cheek  and 
another,  as  Ira  danced  about  him  like  the 
shadow  of  a  magic  lantern. 

"  He's  a-tirin'  him  down/'  thought  Allaphair, 
but  she  was  wrong;  Ir&  was  trying  to  make 
him  mad,  and  that  did  not  take  much  time  or 
trouble.    Jay  rushed  him. 

"  No  wrasslin',"  called  Ira  quietly,  at  the 
same  time  stopping  the  rush  with  a  left-hand 
swing  on  Jay's  chin  that  made  the  head  wabble. 

"  I  reckon  he  must  be  left-handed,"  thought 
the  wondering  Allaphair.  There  are  persons 
who  literally  do  grind  their  teeth  with  rage  and 
it  is  audible.    The  girl  heard  Jay's  now. 

"  He's  goin'  to  kill  him,"  she  thought,  and 
she  got  ready  to  do  her  part,  for  with  a  terrible, 
hoarse  grunt  Jay  had  rushed.  Like  a  greased 
rod  of  steel  the  boy  writhed  loose  from  the  big, 
crooked  talons  that  reached  for  his  throat,  and 
his  right  fist,  knobbed  on  the  end  of  another  bar 
of  steel,  came  up  under  Jay's  bent  head  with 
every  ounce  of  the  whole  weight  behind  it  in 
the  blow.  It  caught  the  big  man  on  the  point 
of  the  chin.  Jay's  head  snapped  up  and  back 
violently,  his  feet  left  the  ground,  and  his  big 
body  thudded  the  road. 

"  My  God,  he's  knocked  him  down !  My 
God,  he's  knocked  him  down ! "  muttered  the 
amazed  girl.  "  You  got  him  down  !  "  she  cried. 
167 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


"  Jump  on  him  an'  stomp  him  !  "  He  turned 
one  startled  look  toward  her  and — it  is  in- 
credible— the  look  even  at  that  moment  was 
shy;  but  he  stood  still,  for  Ira  had  picked  up 
the  ethics  as  well  as  the  skill  of  the  art,  of  which 
nothing  was  known  in  Happy  Valley  or  else- 
where in  the  hills.  So  he  stood  still,  his  hands 
open,  and  waited.  For  a  while  Jay  did  not 
move,  and  his  eyes,  when  they  did  open,  looked 
dazed.  He  rose  slowly,  and  as  things  came 
back  to  him  his  face  became  suddenly  distorted. 
Nothing  alive  could  humiliate  him  that  way 
and  still  live;  he  meant  to  kill  now. 

"  Look  out !  "  screamed  the  girl.  Jay  rushed 
for  the  gun  and  Ira  darted  after  him;  but  there 
was  a  quicker  flash  from  the  bushes,  and  Jay 
found  his  own  gun  pointed  at  his  own  breast 
and  behind  it  Allaphair's  black  eyes  searing 
him. 

"  Huh  !  "  she  grunted  contemptuously,  and 
the  silence  was  absolute  while  she  broke  the 
pistol,  emptied  the  cartridges  into  her  hand, 
and  threw  them  far  over  into  the  bushes. 

"  Less  go  on  home,  Iry,"  she  said,  and  a  few 
steps  away  she  turned  and  tossed  the  gun  at 
Jay's  feet.  He  stooped,  picked  it  up,  and,  twirl- 
ing it  in  his  hand,  looked  foolishly  after  them. 
Presently  he  grinned,  for  at  bottom  Jay  was  a 
man.  And  two  hours  later,  amid  much  won- 
168 


"  You  got  him  down  !  "  she  cried.    "  Jump  on  him  an' 
stomp  him  ! " 


THE  COURTSHIP  OF  ALLAPHAIR 


der  and  many  guffaws,  he  was  telling  the 

tale: 

"  The  damned  leetle  spindle-shank  licked  me 
— licked  me  !  An'  Fll  back  him  agin  anybody 
in  Happy  Valley  or  anywhar  else — ef  you  leave 
out  bitin',  gougin',  and  wrasslinV 

"  Did  ye  lose  yo9  gal,  too  ?  "  asked  Pleasant 
Trouble. 

"  Huh  ! "  said  Jay,  "  I  reckon  not — she  knows 
her  boss." 

The  two  walked  home  slowly  and  in  silence 
— Ira  in  front  and  Allaphair,  as  does  the  woman 
in  the  hills,  following  close  behind,  in  a  spirit 
quite  foreign  to  her  hitherto.  The  little  school- 
teacher had  turned  shy  again  and  said  never  a 
word,  but,  as  he  opened  the  gate  to  let  her  pass 
through,  she  saw  the  old,  old,  telltale  look  in 
his  sombre  eyes.  Her  mother  was  crooning  in 
the  porch. 

"  No  ploughin'  termorrer,  mammy.  Me  an' 
Iry  want  the  ole  nag  to  go  down  to  the  Couht 
House  in  the  mornin\  Iry's  axed  me  to  marry 
him." 

Perhaps  every  woman  does  not  love  a  master 
— perhaps  Allaphair  had  found  hers. 


169 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


THE  boy  had  come  home  for  Sunday  and 
must  go  back  now  to  the  Mission  school. 
He  picked  up  his  battered  hat  and  there  was  no 
good-by. 

"  I  reckon  I  better  be  goin',"  he  said,  and 
out  he  walked.  The  mother  barely  raised  her 
eyes,  but  after  he  was  gone  she  rose  and  from 
the  low  doorway  looked  after  his  sturdy  figure 
trudging  up  the  road.  His  whistle,  as  clear  as 
the  call  of  a  quail,  filled  her  ears  for  a  while  and 
then  was  buried  beyond  the  hill.  A  smaller  lad 
clutched  her  black  skirt,  whimpering: 
"  Wisht  I  c'd  go  to  the  Mission  school.'5 
"  Thar  hain't  room,"  she  said  shortly.  "  The 
teacher  says  thar  hain't  room.  I  wish  to  God 
thar  was." 

Still  whistling,  the  boy  trudged  on.  Now 
and  then  he  would  lift  his  shrill  voice  and  the 
snatch  of  an  old  hymn  or  a  folk-song  would 
float  through  the  forest  and  echo  among  the 
crags  above  him.  It  was  a  good  three  hours' 
walk  whither  he  was  bound,  but  in  less  than 
170 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


an  hour  he  stopped  where  a  brook  tumbled 
noisily  from  a  steep  ravine  and  across  the  road 
— stopped  and  looked  up  the  thick  shadows 
whence  it  came.  Hesitant,  he  stood  on  one 
foot  and  then  on  the  other,  with  a  wary  look 
down  the  road  and  up  the  ravine. 

"  I  said  I'd  try  to  git  back,"  he  said  aloud. 
"  I  said  Fd  try." 

And  with  this  self-excusing  sophistry  he 
darted  up  the  brook.  The  banks  were  steep 
and  thickly  meshed  with  rhododendron,  from 
which  hemlock  shot  like  black  arrows  upward, 
but  the  boy  threaded  through  them  like  a  snake. 
His  breast  was  hardly  heaving  when  he  reached 
a  small  plateau  hundreds  of  feet  above  the 
road,  where  two  branches  of  the  stream  met 
from  narrower  ravines  right  and  left.  To  the 
right  he  climbed,  not  up  the  bed  of  the  stream, 
but  to  the  top  of  a  little  spur,  along  which  he 
went  slowly  and  noiselessly,  stooping  low.  A 
little  farther  on  he  dropped  on  his  knees  and 
crawled  to  the  edge  of  a  cliff,  where  he  lay  flat 
on  his  belly  and  peeked  over.  Below  him  one 
Jeb  Mullins,  a  stooping,  gray  old  man,  was 
stirring  something  in  a  great  brass  kettle.  A 
tin  cup  was  going  the  round  of  three  men  squat- 
ting near.  On  a  log  two  men  were  playing  with 
greasy  cards,  and  near  them  another  lay  in 
drunken  sleep.  The  boy  grinned,  slid  down 
171 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


through  the  bushes,  and,  deepening  his  voice 
all  he  could,  shouted: 

"  Throw  up  yo'  hands  !  " 

The  old  man  flattened  behind  the  big  kettle 
with  his  pistol  out.  One  of  the  four  men  leaped 
for  a  tree — the  others  shot  up  their  hands.  The 
card-players  rolled  over  the  bank  near  them, 
with  no  thought  of  where  they  would  land,  and 
the  drunken  man  slept  on.  The  boy  laughed 
loudly. 

"  Don't  shoot !  "  he  cried,  and  he  came 
through  the  bushes  jeering.  The  men  at  the 
still  dropped  their  hands  and  looked  sheepish 
and  then  angry,  as  did  the  card-players,  whose 
faces  reappeared  over  the  edge  of  the  bank. 
But  the  old  man  and  the  young  one  behind  the 
tree,  who  alone  had  got  ready  to  fight,  joined 
in  with  the  boy,  and  the  others  had  to  look 
sheepish  again. 

"  Come  on,  Chris  !  "  said  the  old  moonshiner, 
dipping  the  cup  into  the  white  liquor  and  hand- 
ing it  forth  full.    "  Hit's  on  me." 

Christmas  is  "new  Christmas  "  in  Happy 
Valley.  The  women  give  scant  heed  to  it,  and 
to  the  men  it  means  "  a  jug  of  liquor,  a  pistol 
in  each  hand,  and  a  galloping  nag."  There 
had  been  target-shooting  at  Uncle  Jerry's  mill 
to  see  who  should  drink  old  Jeb  Mullins's  moon- 
172 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


shine  and  who  should  smell,  and  so  good  was 
the  marksmanship  that  nobody  went  without 
his  dram.  The  carousing,  dancing,  and  fight- 
ing were  about  all  over,  and  now,  twelve  days 
later,  it  was  the  dawn  of  "  old  Christmas,"  and 
St.  Hilda  sat  on  the  porch  of  her  Mission  school 
alone.  The  old  folks  of  Happy  Valley  pay 
puritan  heed  to  "  old  Christmas."  They  eat 
cold  food  and  preserve  a  solemn  demeanor  on 
that  day,  and  they  have  the  pretty  legend  that 
at  midnight  the  elders  bloom  and  the  beasts  of 
the  field  and  the  cattle  in  the  barn  kneel,  lowing 
and  moaning.  The  sun  was  just  rising  and  the 
day  was  mild,  for  a  curious  warm  spell,  not 
uncommon  in  the  hills,  had  come  to  Happy 
Valley.  Already  singing  little  workers  were 
"  toting  rocks  "  from  St.  Hilda's  garden,  corn- 
field, and  vineyard,  for  it  was  Monday,  and 
every  Monday  they  gathered — boys  and  girls — 
from  creek  and  hillside,  to  help  her  as  volun- 
teers. Far  up  the  road  she  heard  among  them 
taunting  laughter  and  jeers,  and  she  rose 
quickly.  A  loud  oath  shocked  the  air,  and  she 
saw  a  boy  chasing  one  of  the  workers  up  the 
vineyard  hill.  She  saw  the  pursuer  raise  his 
hand  and  fall,  just  as  he  was  about  to  hurl  a 
stone.  Then  there  were  more  laughter  and 
jeers,  and  the  fallen  boy  picked  himself  up 
heavily  and  started  down  the  road  toward 


173 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


her — staggering.  On  he  came  staggering,  and 
when  he  stood  swaying  before  her  there  was  no 
shocked  horror  in  her  face — only  pity  and  sorrow. 

"  Oh,  Chris,  Chris !  "  she  said  sadly.  The 
boy  neither  spoke  nor  lifted  his  eyes,  and  she 
led  him  up-stairs  and  put  him  to  bed.  All  day 
he  slept  in  a  stupor,  and  it  was  near  sunset 
when  he  came  down,  pale,  shamed,  and  silent. 
There  were  several  children  in  the  porch. 

"  Come,  Chris  !  "  St.  Hilda  said,  and  he  fol- 
lowed her  down  to  the  edge  of  the  creek,  where 
she  sat  down  on  a  log  and  he  stood  with  hang- 
ing head  before  her. 

"Chris/'  she  said,  "we'll  have  a  plain  talk 
now.  This  is  the  fourth  time  you've  been  " — 
the  word  came  with  difficulty — "  drunk." 

"  Yes'm." 

"  I've  sent  you  away  three  times,  and  three 
times  I've  let  you  come  back.  I  let  you  come 
back  after  new  Christmas,  only  twelve  days 

99 

ago. 

"  Yes'm." 

"  You  can't  keep  your  word." 
"No'm." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  now,  so  I'm  going 
to  ask  you." 

She  paused  and  Chris  was  silent,  but  he  was 
thinking,  and  she  waited.  Presently  he  looked 
straight  into  her  eyes,  still  silent. 

174 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


"  What  do  you  think  Fd  better  do  ?  u  she  in- 
sisted. 

H  I  reckon  you  got  to  whoop  me,  Miss  Hildy." 

"  But  you  know  I  can't  whip  yon,  Chris.  I 
never  whip  anybody/' 

Several  times  a  child  had  offered  to  whip  him- 
self, had  done  so,  and  she  wondered  whether 
the  boy  would  propose  that,  but  he  repeated, 
obstinately  and  hopelessly: 

"  You  got  to  whoop  me." 

"  I  won't — I  can't."  Then  an  idea  came. 
"Your  mother  will  have  to  whip  you." 

Chris  shook  his  head  and  was  silent.  He 
was  not  on  good  terms  with  his  mother.  It 
was  a  current  belief  that  she  had  "  put  pizen 
in  his  daddy's  liquer."  She  had  then  married 
a  man  younger  than  she  was,  and  to  the  boy's 
mind  the  absence  of  dignity  in  one  case  matched 
the  crime  in  the  other. 

"All  right,"  he  said  at  last;  "but  I  reckon 
you  better  send  somebody  else  atter  her.  You 
can't  trust  me  to  git  by  that  still  " — he  stopped 
with  a  half-uttered  oath  of  surprise: 

"  Look  thar !  " 

A  woman  was  coming  up  the  road.  She  wore 
a  black  cotton  dress  and  a  black  sunbonnet — 
mourning  relics  for  the  dead  husband  which  the 
living  one  had  never  had  the  means  to  supplant 
— and  rough  shoes.  She  pushed  back  the  bonnet 

175 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


with  one  nervous,  bony  hand,  saw  the  two 
figures  on  the  edge  of  the  creek,  and  without 
any  gesture  or  call  came  toward  them.  And 
only  the  woman's  quickness  in  St.  Hilda  saw 
the  tense  anxiety  of  the  mother's  face  relax. 
The  boy  saw  nothing;  he  was  only  amazed. 

"  Why,  mammy,  whut  the — whut  are  you 
doin'  up  hyeh  ?  " 

The  mother  did  not  answer,  and  St.  Hilda 
saw  that  she  did  not  want  to  answer.  St.  Hilda 
rose  with  a  warm  smile  of  welcome. 

"  So  this  is  Chris's  mother  ?  " 

The  woman  shook  hands  limply. 

"  Hit's  whut  I  passes  fer,"  she  said,  and  she 
meant  neither  smartness  nor  humor.  The  boy 
was  looking  wonderingly,  almost  suspiciously 
at  her,  and  she  saw  she  must  give  him  some  ex- 
planation. 

"  I  been  wantin'  to  see  the  school  hyeh  an' 
Miss  Hildy.  I  had  to  come  up  to  see  Aunt  Sue 
Morrow,  who's  might'  nigh  gone,  so  I  jes  kep' 
a-walkin'  on  up  hyeh." 

"  Miss  Hildy  hyeh,"  said  the  boy,  "  was  jes 
about  to  send  fer  ye." 

"  To  sen'  fer  me  ?  " 

"  I  been  drunk  agin." 

The  mother  showed  no  surprise  or  dis- 
pleasure. 

"  Hit's  the  fourth  time  since  sorghum  time," 
176 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


the  boy  went  on  relentlessly.  "  I  axed  Miss 
Hildy  hyeh  to  whoop  me,  but  she  says  she  don't 
nuver  whoop  nobody,  so  she  was  jes  a-goin'  to 
send  fer  you  to  come  an5  whoop  me  when  you 
come  a-walkin'  up  the  road." 

This  was  all,  and  the  lad  pulled  out  an  old 
Barlow  knife  and  went  to  a  hickory  sapling. 
The  two  women  watched  him  silently  as  he  cut 
off  a  stout  switch  and  calmly  began  to  trim  it. 
At  last  the  woman  turned  to  the  teacher  and 
her  voice  trembled. 

"  I  don't  see  Chris  thar  more'n  once  or  twice 
a  year,  an'  seems  kind  o'  hard  that  I  got  to 
whoop  him." 

The  boy  turned  sharply,  and  helplessly  she 
took  the  switch. 

"  And  hit  hain't  his  fault  nohow.  His  step- 
daddy  got  him  drunk.  He  toV  me  so  when  he 
come  home.  I  went  by  the  still  to  find  Chris 
an'  cuss  out  ole  Jeb  Mullins  an'  the  men  thar. 
An'  I  come  on  hyeh." 

"  Set  down  a  minute,  mammy,"  said  Chris, 
dropping  on  the  log  on  one  side  of  St.  Hilda, 
and  obediently  the  mother  sat  down  on  the 
other  side. 

"  Mammy,"  he  said  abruptly,  "  I'll  stop 
drinkin'  if  you  will." 

St.  Hilda  almost  gasped.  The  woman  lifted 
her  eyes  to  the  mountainside  and  dropped  her 
177 


THE  COMPACT  OF  CHRISTOPHER 


gaze  presently  to  her  hands,  which  were  twisting 
the  switch  in  her  lap. 

"  I'll  stop  if  you  will/'  he  repeated. 

"  ril  try,  Chris,"  she  said,  but  she  did  not 
look  upt 

"  Gimme  yo'  hand." 

Across  St.  Hilda's  lap  she  stretched  one  shak- 
ing hand,  which  the  boy  clasped. 

"  Put  yo'  hand  on  thar,  too,  Miss  Hildy," 
he  said,  and  when  he  felt  the  pressure  of  her 
big,  strong,  white  hand  for  a  moment  he  got  up 
quickly  and  turned  his  face. 

"  All  right,  mammy." 

St.  Hilda  rose,  too,  and  started  for  the  house 
— her  eyes  so  blurred  that  she  could  hardly  see 
the  path.    Midway  she  wheeled. 

"  Don't !  "  she  cried. 

The  mother  was  already  on  her  way  home, 
breaking  the  switch  to  pieces  and  hiding  her 
face  within  the  black  sunbonnet.  The  boy  was 
staring  after  her. 


i78 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


HE  blacksmith-shop  sat  huddled  by  the 


X  roadside  at  the  mouth  of  Wolf  Run — a 
hut  of  blackened  boards.  The  rooftree  sagged 
from  each  gable  down  to  the  crazy  chimney  in 
the  centre,  and  the  smoke  curled  up  between 
the  clapboard  shingles  or,  as  the  wind  listed, 
out  through  the  cracks  of  any  wall.  It  was  a 
bird-singing,  light-flashing  morning  in  spring, 
and  Lum  Chapman  did  things  that  would  have 
set  all  Happy  Valley  to  wondering.  A  bare- 
headed, yellow-haired  girl  rode  down  Wolf  Run 
on  an  old  nag.  She  was  perched  on  a  sack  of 
corn,  and  she  gave  Lum  a  shy  "  how-dye " 
when  she  saw  him  through  the  wide  door. 
Lum's  great  forearm  eased,  the  bellows  flat- 
tened with  a  long,  slow  wheeze,  and  he  went  to 
the  door  and  looked  after  her.  Professionally 
he  noted  that  one  hind  shoe  of  the  old  nag  was 
loose  and  that  the  other  was  gone.  Then  he 
went  back  to  his  work.  It  would  not  be  a  busy 
day  with  Uncle  Jerry  at  the  mill — there  would 
not  be  more  than  one  or  two  ahead  of  her  and 


179 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


her  meal  would  soon  be  ground.  Several  times 
he  quit  work  to  go  to  the  door  and  look  down 
the  road,  and  finally  he  saw  her  coming.  Again 
she  gave  him  a  shy  "  how-dye/'  and  his  eyes 
followed  her  up  Wolf  Run  until  she  was  out  of 
sight. 

The  miracle  these  simple  acts  would  have 
been  to  others  was  none  to  him.  He  was  hardly 
self-conscious,  much  less  analytical,  and  he 
went  back  to  his  work  again. 

A  little  way  up  that  creek  Lum  himself  lived 
in  a  log  cabin,  and  he  lived  alone.  This  in  itself 
was  as  rare  as  a  miracle  in  the  hills,  and  the 
reason,  while  clear,  was  still  a  mystery:  Lum 
had  never  been  known  to  look  twice  at  the  same 
woman.  He  was  big,  kind,  taciturn,  ox-eyed, 
calm.  He  was  so  good-natured  that  anybody 
could  banter  him,  but  nobody  ever  carried  it 
too  far  except  a  bully  from  an  adjoining  county 
one  court  day.  Lum  picked  him  up  bodily  and 
dashed  him  to  the  ground  so  that  blood  gushed 
from  his  nose  and  he  lay  there  bewildered,  white, 
and  still.  Lum  rarely  went  to  church,  and  he 
never  talked  religion,  politics,  or  neighborhood 
gossip.  He  was  really  thought  to  be  quite 
stupid,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  could  make 
lightning  calculations  about  crops,  hogs,  and 
cattle  in  his  head.  However,  one  man  knew 
better,  but  he  was  a  "  furriner,"  a  geologist,  a 
1 80 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


"  rock-pecker "  from  the  Bluegrass.  To  him 
Lum  betrayed  an  uncanny  eye  in  discovering 
coal  signs  and  tracing  them  to  their  hidden  beds, 
and  wide  and  valuable  knowledge  of  the  same. 
Once  the  foreigner  lost  his  barometer  just  when 
he  was  trying  to  locate  a  coal  vein  on  the  side 
of  the  mountain  opposite.  Two  days  later  Lum 
pointed  to  a  ravine  across  the  valley. 

"  You'll  find  that  coal  not  fer  from  the  bot- 
tom o'  that  big  poplar  over  thar."  The  geologist 
stared,  but  he  went  across  and  found  the  coal 
and  came  back  mystified. 

"  How'd  you  do  it  ?  " 

Lum  led  him  up  Wolf  Run.  Where  the  vein 
showed  by  the  creek-side  Lum  had  built  a 
little  dam,  and  when  the  water  ran  even  with 
the  mud-covered  stones  he  had  turned  the 
stream  aside.  The  geologist  lay  down,  sighted 
across  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  his  eye 
caught  the  base  of  the  big  poplar. 

"  Hit's  the  Lord's  own  level,"  said  Lum,  and 
back  he  went  to  his  work,  the  man  looking  after 
him  and  muttering: 

"  The  Lord's  own  level." 

Hardly  knowing  it,  Lum  waited  for  grinding 
day.  There  was  the  same  exchange  of  "  how- 
dyes  "  between  him  and  the  girl,  going  and 
coming,  and  Lum  noted  that  the  remaining 
hind  shoe  was  gone  from  the  old  nag  and  that 
181 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


one  of  the  front  ones  was  going.  This  too  was 
gone  the  next  time  she  passed,  and  for  the  first 
time  Lum  spoke: 

"  Yo'  hoss  needs  shoein'." 

"  She  ain't  wuth  it,"  said  the  girl.  Two 
hours  later,  when  the  girl  came  back,  Lum  took 
up  the  conversation  again. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  is,"  he  drawled,  and  the  girl 
slid  from  her  sack  of  meal  and  watched  him, 
which  she  could  do  fearlessly,  for  Lum  never 
looked  at  her.  He  had  never  asked  her  name 
and  he  did  not  ask  her  now. 

"  I'm  Jeb  Mullins's  gal,"  she  said.  "  Pap'll 
be  comin'  'long  hyeh  some  day  an'  pay  ye." 

"  My  name's  Lum — Lum  Chapman." 

"  They  calls  me  Marthy." 

He  lifted  her  bag  to  the  horse's  bony  withers 
with  one  hand,  but  he  did  not  offer  to  help  her 
mount.  He  watched  her  again  as  she  rode 
away,  and  when  she  looked  back  he  turned 
with  a  queer  feeling  into  his  shop.  Two  days 
later  Jeb  Mullins  came  by. 

"  Whad'  I  owe  ye  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nothin',"  said  Lum  gruffly. 

The  next  day  the  old  man  brought  down  a 
broken  plough  on  his  shoulder,  and  to  the  same 
question  he  got  the  same  answer: 

"  Nothin'."  So  he  went  back  and  teased 
Martha,  who  blushed  when  she  next  passed  the 
182 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


door  of  the  shop,  and  this  time  Lum  did  not 
go  out  to  watch  her  down  the  road. 

Sunday  following,  Parson  Small,  the  circuit- 
rider,  preached  in  the  open-air  "  meetin'-house," 
that  had  the  sky  for  a  roof  and  blossoming 
rhododendron  for  walls,  and — wonder  of  won- 
ders— Lum  Chapman  was  there.  In  the  rear 
he  sat,  and  everybody  turned  to  look  at  Lum. 
JSo  simple  was  he  that  the  reason  of  his  presence 
was  soon  plain,  for  he  could  no  more  keep  his 
eyes  from  the  back  of  Martha  Mullins's  yellow 
head  than  a  needle  could  keep  its  point  from 
the  North  Pole.  The  circuit-rider  on  his  next 
circuit  would  preach  the  funeral  services  of 
Uncle  Billy  Hall,  who  had  been  dead  ten  years, 
and  Uncle  Billy  would  be  draped  with  all  the 
virtues  that  so  few  men  have  when  alive  and 
that  so  few  lack  when  dead.  He  would  marry 
such  couples  as  might  to  marriage  be  inclined. 
There  were  peculiar  customs  in  Happy  Valley, 
due  to  the  "  rider's  "  long  absences,  so  that 
sometimes  a  baby  might  without  shame  be 
present  at  the  wedding  of  its  own  parents.  To 
be  sure,  Lum's  eyes  did  swerve  once  when  the 
preacher  spoke  of  marriage — swerved  from 
where  the  women  sat  to  where  sat  the  men — to 
young  Jake  Kilburn,  called  Devil  Jake,  a  name 
of  which  he  was  rather  proud;  for  Martha's 
eyes  had  swerved  to  him  too,  and  Jake  shot 

183 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


back  a  killing  glance  and  began  twisting  his 
black  mustache. 

And  then  the  preacher  told  about  the  woman 
whom  folks  once  stoned. 

Lum  listened  dully  and  waited  helplessly 
around  at  the  end  of  the  meeting  until  he  saw 
Martha  and  Jake  go  down  the  road  together, 
Martha  shy  and  conscious  and  Jake  the  con- 
quering daredevil  that  he  was  known  to  be 
among  women.  Lum  went  back  to  his  cabin, 
cooked  his  dinner,  and  sat  down  in  his  doorway 
to  whittle  and  dream. 

Lum  went  to  church  no  more.  When  Martha 
passed  his  shop,  the  same  "  how-dye  "  passed 
between  them  and  no  more.  Twice  the  circuit- 
rider  came  and  went  and  Martha  and  Devil 
Jake  did  not  ask  his  services.  A  man  who  knew 
Jake's  record  in  another  county  started  a  dark 
rumor  which  finally  reached  Lum  and  sent  him 
after  the  daredevil.  But  Jake  had  fled  and 
Lum  followed  him  almost  to  the  edge  of  the 
Bluegrass  country,  to  find  that  Jake  had  a  wife 
and  child.  He  had  meant  to  bring  Jake  back 
to  his  duty,  but  he  merely  beat  him  up,  kicked 
him  to  one  side  of  the  road  like  a  dog,  and  came 
back  to  his  shop. 

Old  Jeb  Mullins  came  by  thereafter  with  the 
old  nag  and  the  sack  of  corn,  and  Lum  went  on 
doing  little  jobs  for  him  for  nothing,  for  Jeb 
184 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


9 


was  a  skinflint,  a  moonshiner,  and  a  mean  old 
man.  He  did  not  turn  Martha  out  of  his  hut, 
because  he  was  callous  and  because  he  needed 
her  to  cook  and  to  save  him  work  in  the  garden 
and  corn-field.  Martha  stayed  closely  at  home, 
but  she  was  treated  so  kindly  by  some  of  the 
neighbors  that  once  she  ventured  to  go  to 
church.  Then  she  knew  from  the  glances,  whis- 
pers, and  gigglings  of  the  other  girls  just  where 
she  stood,  and  she  was  not  seen  again  very  far 
from  her  own  door.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
Lum  saw  her  again,  so  long,  indeed,  that  when 
at  last  he  saw  her  coming  down  Wolf  Run  on  a 
sack  of  corn  she  carried  a  baby  in  her  arms. 
She  did  not  look  up  as  she  approached,  and 
when  she  passed  she  turned  her  head  and  did 
not  speak  to  him.  So  Lum  sat  where  he  was 
and  waited  for  her  to  come  back,  and  she  knew 
he  had  been  waiting  as  soon  as  she  saw  him. 
She  felt  him  staring  at  her  even  when  she 
turned  her  head,  and  she  did  not  look  up  until 
the  old  nag  stopped.  Lum  was  barring  the 
way. 

"  Yo'  hoss  needs  shoein',"  he  said  gravely, 
and  from  her  lap  he  took  the  baby  unafraid. 
Indeed,  the  child  dimpled  and  smiled  at  him, 
and  the  little  arm  around  his  neck  gave  him  a 
curious  shiver  that  ran  up  the  back  of  his  head 
and  down  his  spine.    The  shoeing  was  quickly 

185 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 


done,  and  in  absolute  silence,  but  when  they 
started  up  Wolf  Run  Lum  went  with  them. 

"  Come  by  my  shack  a  minit,"  he  said. 

The  girl  said  nothing;  that  in  itself  would  be 
another  scandal,  of  course,  but  what  was  the 
difference  what  folks  might  say  ?  At  his  cabin 
he  reached  up  and  lifted  mother  and  child  from 
the  old  nag,  and  the  girl's  hair  brushed  his 
cheek. 

"  You  stay  hyeh  with  the  baby,"  he  said 
quietly,  "  an'  I'll  take  yo'  meal  home."  She 
looked  at  him  with  mingled  trust  and  despair. 
What  was  the  difference  ? 

It  was  near  sundown  when  Lum  got  back. 
Smoke  was  coming  out  of  his  rickety  chimney, 
and  the  wail  of  an  old  ballad  reached  his  ears. 
Singing,  the  girl  did  not  hear  him  coming,  and 
through  the  open  door  he  saw  that  the  room  had 
been  tidied  up  and  that  she  was  cooking  supper. 
The  baby  was  playing  on  the  floor.  She  turned 
at  the  creak  of  his  footstep  on  the  threshold  and 
for  the  first  time  she  spoke. 

"  Supper'll  be  ready  in  a  minit." 

A  few  minutes  later  he  was  seated  at  the 
table  alone  and  the  girl,  with  the  baby  on  one 
arm,  was  waiting  on  him.  By  and  by  he  pushed 
back  his  chair,  pulled  out  his  pipe,  and  sat 
down  in  the  doorway.  Dusk  was  coming.  In 
the  shadowy  depths  below  a  wood-thrush  was 
1 86 


"  You  stay  hyeh  with  the  baby,"  he  said  quietly,  "  an'  I'll 
take  yo'  meal  home."  [Page  61.] 


THE  LORD'S  OWN  LEVEL 

fluting  his  last  notes  for  that  day.  Then  for 
the  first  time  each  called  the  other  by  name. 

"  Marthy,  the  circuit-rider'll  be  'roun*  two 
weeks  from  next  Sunday." 

"  All  right,  Lum." 


187 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


THUS  it  had  happened.    Pleasant  Trouble 
was  drunk  one  day  and  a  fly  lit  on  his 
knee.  He  whipped  his  forty-four  from  its  holster. 

"  I'll  show  ye  who  you  air  lightin'  on ! 99  he 
swore,  and  blazed  away.  Of  course  he  killed 
the  fly,  but  incidentally  he  shattered  its  lighting- 
place.  Had  he  been  in  a  trench  anywhere  in 
France,  his  leg  would  have  been  saved,  but  he 
was  away  out  in  the  Kentucky  hills.  If  he 
minded  the  loss  of  it,  however,  no  one  could  see, 
for  with  chin  up  and  steady,  daredevil  eyes  he 
swung  along  about  as  well  on  his  crutch  as  if  it 
had  been  a  good  leg.  Down  the  road,  close  to 
the  river's  brim,  he  was  swinging  now — his 
voice  lifted  in  song.  Ahead  of  him  and  just 
around  the  curve  of  the  road,  with  the  sun  of 
Happy  Valley  raining  its  last  gold  on  her  golden 
bare  head,  walked  the  Marquise;  but  neither 
Pleasant  nor  she  herself  knew  she  was  the  Mar- 
quise. A  few  minutes  later  the  girl  heard  the 
crunch  of  the  crutch  in  the  sandy  road  behind 
her,  and  she  turned  with  a  smile: 

"  How-dye,  Pleaz ! 99    The  man  caught  the 
flapping  brim  of  his  slouch-hat  and  lifted  it — 
188 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


an  act  of  courtesy  that  he  had  learned  only  after 
Happy  Valley  was  blessed  by  the  advent  of  the 
Mission  school:  making  it,  he  was  always  em- 
barrassed no  little. 

"  How-dye,  Miss  Mary  ! " 

"  Going  down  to  the  dance  ?  "  , 

"  No'm,"  he  said  with  vigorous  severity,  and 
then  with  unctuous  virtue — "  I  hain't  nuver 
run  a  set  or  played  a  play  in  my  life." 

The  word  "  dance  "  is  taboo  among  these 
Calvinists  of  the  hills.  They  "  run  sets  99  and 
"  play  plays  " — and  these  are  against  the  sterner 
morals  that  prevail — but  they  do  not  dance. 
The  Mission  teacher  smiled.  This  was  a  side- 
light on  the  complex  character  of  Pleasant 
Trouble  that  she  had  not  known  before,  and 
she  knew  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  absent 
leg.  A  hundred  yards  ahead  of  them  a  boy 
and  a  girl  emerged  from  a  ravine — young  King 
Camp  and  Polly  Sizemore — and  plainly  they 
were  quarrelling.  The  girl's  head  was  high 
with  indignation;  the  boy's  was  low  with  anger, 
and  now  and  then  he  would  viciously  dig  the 
toe  of  his  boot  in  the  sand  as  he  strode  along. 
Pleasant  grinned. 

"  I  won't  holler  to  'em,"  he  said;  "  I  reckon 
they'd  ruther  be  alone." 

"  Pleasant,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "  you  drink 
moonshine,  don't  you  ?  " 

189 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


"  Yes'm." 

"  You  sometimes  make  it,  don't  you  ? " 
"  I've  been  s'picioned." 

"  You  were  turned  out  of  church  once,  weren't 
you,  for  shooting  up  a  meeting  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  indignant  defense,  "  but  I 
proved  to  'em  that  I  was  drunk,  an'  they  tuk 
me  back."    The  girl  had  to  laugh. 

"  And  yet  you  think  dancing  wrong  ?  " 

"  Yes'm." 

The  girl  gave  it  up — so  perfunctory  and  final 
was  his  reply.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  have  lost 
interest.  Twice  he  had  looked  back,  and  now 
he  turned  again.  She  saw  the  fulfilment  of 
some  prophecy  in  his  face  as  he  grunted  and 
frowned. 

"  Thar  comes  Ham  Cage,"  he  said.  Turning, 
the  girl  saw  an  awkward  youth  stepping  into 
the  road  from  the  same  ravine  whence  Polly 
and  young  King  had  come,  but  she  did  not,  as 
did  Pleasant,  see  Ham  shifting  a  revolver  from 
his  hip  to  an  inside  pocket. 

"  Those  two  boys  worry  the  life  out  of  me," 
she  said,  and  again  Pleasant  grunted.  They 
were  the  two  biggest  boys  in  the  school,  and  in 
running,  jumping,  lifting  weights,  shooting  at 
marks,  and  even  in  working — in  everything, 
indeed,  except  in  books — they  were  tireless 
rivals.  And  now  they  were  bitter  contest- 
190 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


ants  for  the  favor  of  Polly  Sizemore — a  fact 
that  Pleasant  knew  better  than  the  Mission 
girl. 

Flirts  are  rare  in  the  hills.  "  If  two  boys 
meets  at  the  same  house,"  Pleasant  once  had 
told  her,  "  they  jes  makes  the  gal  say  which 
one  she  likes  best,  and  t'other  one  gits  !  "  But 
with  the  growth  of  the  Mission  school  had  come 
a  certain  tolerance  which  Polly  had  used  to  the 
limit.  Indeed,  St.  Hilda  had  discovered  a  queer 
reason  for  a  sudden  quickening  of  interest  on 
Polly's  part  in  her  studies.  Polly  had  to  have 
the  letters  she  got  read  for  her,  and  the  letters 
she  sent  written  for  her,  and  thus  St.  Hilda 
found  that  at  least  three  young  men,  who  had 
gone  into  the  army  and  had  learned  to  write, 
thought — each  of  them — that  he  was  first  in 
her  heart.  Polly  now  wanted  to  learn  to  read 
and  write  so  that  she  could  keep  such  secrets 
to  herself.  She  had  been  "  settin'  up  "  with 
Ham  Cage  for  a  long  time,  and  now  she  was 
"  talkin'  to  "  young  King  Camp.  King  was 
taking  her  to  the  dance,  and  it  was  plain  to 
Pleasant  that  trouble  was  near.  He  looked 
worried. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  reckon  thar  hain't  so 
much  harm  the  way  you  school  folks  run  sets 
because  you  don't  'low  drinkin'  or  totin'  pistols, 
an'  you  make  'em  go  home  early.   I  heerd  Miss 
191 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


Hildy  is  away — do  you  think  you  can  manage 
the  bad  uns  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  smiled  Miss  Mary. 

"  Well,  mebbe  I  will  come  around  to-night." 

"  Come  right  along  now,"  said  the  girl  hear- 
tily, but  Pleasant  had  left  his  own  gun  at  home, 
so  he  shook  his  head  and  started  up  the  moun- 
tain. 

II 

Happy  Valley  was  darkening  now.  The 
evening  star  shone  white  in  the  last  rosy  west- 
ern flush,  and  already  lanterns  glowed  on  the 
porch  of  the  "  big  house  "  where  the  dancing 
was  to  be.  From  high  in  the  shadows  a  voice 
came  down  to  the  girl: 

"  I  hain't  got  a  gun  an'  I  hain't  had  a  drink 
to-day.  Hit's  a  shame  when  Miss  Hildy's  al- 
ways a-tryin'  to  give  us  a  good  time  she  has  to 
beg  us  to  behave." 

The  young  folks  were  gathering  in.  On  the 
porch  she  saw  Polly  Sizemore  in  a  chair  and 
young  King  Camp  slipping  into  the  darkness  on 
the  other  side  of  the  house.  A  few  minutes  later 
Ham  Cage  strolled  into  sight,  saw  Polly,  and 
sullenly  dropped  on  the  stone  steps  as  far  away 
from  her  as  possible.  The  little  teacher  planned 
a  course  of  action. 

"  Ham,"  she  said,  as  she  passed,  "  I  want 
192 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


you  to  run  the  first  set  with  me."  Ham  stared 
and  she  was  rather  startled  by  his  flush. 

"  Yes'm,"  he  stammered.  A  moment  later 
young  King  reappeared  at  the  other  end  of  the 
porch. 

"  King/'  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  run  the 
second  set  with  me/'  and  King  too  stared, 
flushed,  and  stammered  assent,  while  Polly 
flashed  indignation  at  the  little  teacher's  back. 
It  had  been  Miss  Mary's  plan  to  break  up  the 
hill  custom  of  one  boy  and  one  girl  dancing  to- 
gether all  the  time — and  she  had  another  idea 
as  well. 

Pleasant  Trouble  swung  into  the  circle  of 
light  from  the  porch  just  as  the  first  set  started, 
and  he  sat  down  on  the  stone  steps  to  look  on. 
It  was  a  jolly  dance.  Some  elderly  folks  were 
there  to  look  on,  and  a  few  married  couples  who, 
in  spite  of  Miss  Mary's  persuasions,  yet  refused 
to  take  part.  It  was  soon  plain  that  Polly  Size- 
more  and  the  little  teacher  were  the  belles  of 
the  ball,  though  of  the  two  Polly  alone  seemed 
to  realize  it.  Pleasant  could  hardly  keep  his 
eyes  off  the  Mission  girl.  She  was  light  as  a 
feather,  her  eyes  sparkled,  her  cheeks  grew  rosy, 
her  laugh  rang  out,  and  the  flaming  spirit  of 
her  was  kindling  fires  of  which  she  never 
dreamed.  Pleasant  saw  her  dance  first  with 
Ham  and  then  with  King,  and  he  grinned  with 

193 


THE^  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


swift  recognition  of  her  purpose.  And  he 
grinned  the  more  when  he  saw  that  she  was 
succeeding  beyond  her  realization — saw  it  by 
the  rage  in  Polly's  black  eyes,  which  burned 
now  at  Ham  and  now  at  King,  for  Miss  Mary 
had  no  further  need  to  ask  either  of  them  to 
dance — one  or  the  other  was  always  at  her  side. 
Indeed  the  Marquise,  without  knowing  it,  was 
making  a  pretty  triangular  mess  of  things,  and 
Pleasant  chuckled  unholily — chuckled  until  he 
saw  things  were  getting  serious,  and  then  his 
inner  laughing  ceased  and  his  sharp  eyes  got 
wary  and  watchful.  For  first  Ham  and  then 
King  would  disappear  in  the  darkness,  and  each 
time  they  came  back  their  faces  were  more 
flushed  and  their  dancing  was  more  furious. 

Now,  Polly  was  winging  arrows  of  anger  at 
the  little  teacher,  and  presently  Pleasant  rose 
lightly  and  with  incredible  swiftness  swung 
across  the  floor  just  as  the  climax  came.  From 
the  other  side  Polly  too  darted  forward.  Ham 
and  King  were  glaring  at  each  other  over  the 
teacher's  pretty  head — each  claiming  the  next 
dance.  Miss  Mary  was  opening  her  mouth  for 
a  mild  rebuke  when  the  two  boys  sprang  back, 
the  right  hand  of  each  flashing  to  his  hip.  King 
drew  first,  and  Pleasant's  crutch  swished  down 
on  his  wrist,  striking  his  pistol  to  the  floor. 
Polly  had  caught  Ham's  hand  with  both  her 
194 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


own,  and  Ham  felt  the  muzzle  of  Pleasant's 
forty-four  against  his  stomach. 

"  Stop  it !  "  said  Pleasant  sternly.  "  Miss 
Mary  don't  like  sech  doin's." 

So  quickly  was  it  on  and  over  that  the  teacher 
hardly  realized  that  it  had  come  on  and  was 
over.  Her  bewildered  face  paled,  but  the  color 
came  back  with  a  rush,  and  when  her  indignant 
eyes  began  their  deadly  work  Pleasant  knew 
there  was  no  further  need  of  him,  and  he  stepped 
back  as  though  to  escape  penalty  even  for  play- 
ing peacemaker  in  a  way  so  rude. 

"  You — you — you  two  !  "  breathed  Miss 
Mary  helplessly,  but  only  for  a  moment. 

"  Give  me  that  gun,  Ham.  Pick  that  one 
up,  King."  Both  she  handed  to  Pleasant,  and 
then — no  torrent  came.  She  turned  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand. 

"  You  can  all  go  home  now."  There  had 
been  a  moment  of  deadly  quiet,  but  in  the 
mountains  even  boys  and  girls  do  not  take  such 
events  very  seriously;  the  hubbub  and  tittering 
that  had  started  again  ceased  again,  and  all 
left  quickly  and  quietly — all  but  the  teacher, 
Pleasant,  and  the  two  boys,  for  Polly  too 
was  moving  away.  King  turned  to  go  after 
her. 

"  Wait  a  moment,  King,"  said  Miss  Mary, 
and  Polly  cried  fiercely :    "  He  can  stay  till 

*9S 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


doomsday  fer  all  o'  me.  I  hain't  goin'  with  ary 
one  uv  'em."    And  she  flirted  away. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  talk  to  you  two  boys 
until  to-morrow,"  said  Miss  Mary  firmly,  "  and 
then  I'm  going  to  put  a  stop  to  all  this.  I  want 
both  of  you  to  be  here  when  school  closes.  I 
want  you  too,  Pleasant,  and  I  want  you  to 
bring  Lum  Chapman." 

Pleasant  Trouble  was  as  bewildered  as  the 
two  shamefaced  boys — did  she  mean  to  have 
him  hold  a  gun  on  the  two  boys  while  Lum,  the 
blacksmith,  whaled  them  ? 

"  Me  ?— Lum  ?— why,  whut  " 

"  Never  mind — wait  till  to-morrow.  Will 
you  all  be  here  ?  " 

"  Yes'm,"  said  all. 

"  Go  with  them  up  the  river,  Pleasant.  Don't 
let  them  quarrel,  and  see  that  each  one  goes 
up  his  own  creek." 

The  two  boys  moved  away  like  yoked  oxen. 
At  the  bottom  step  Pleasant  turned  to  look 
back.  Very  rigid  and  straight  the  little  teacher 
stood  under  the  lantern,  and  the  pallor  and 
distress  of  her  face  had  given  way  to  a  look  of 
stern  determination. 

"  Whew  !  "  he  breathed,  and  he  turned  a  half- 
circle  on  his  crutch  into  the  dark. 


196 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


III 

Miss  Mary  Holden  was  a  daughter  of  the 
Old  Dominion,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Cumber- 
land Range,  and  she  came,  of  course,  from 
fighting  stock.  She  had  gone  North  to  school 
and  had  come  home  horrified  by — to  put  it 
mildly — the  Southern  tendency  to  an  occasional 
homicide.  There  had  been  a  great  change,  to 
be  sure,  within  her  young  lifetime.  Except 
under  circumstances  that  were  peculiarly  ag- 
gravating, gentlemen  no  longer  peppered  each 
other  on  sight.  The  duel  was  quite  gone.  In- 
deed, the  last  one  at  the  old  university  was  in 
her  father's  time,  and  had  been,  he  told  her, 
a  fake.  A  Texan  had  challenged  another  stu- 
dent, and  the  seconds  had  loaded  the  pistols  with 
blank  cartridges.  After  firing  three  times  at 
his  enemy  the  Texan  threw  his  weapon  down, 
swore  that  he  could  hit  a  quarter  every  time 
at  that  distance,  pulled  forth  two  guns  of  his 
own  and  demanded  that  they  be  used;  and 
they  had  a  terrible  time  appeasing  the  West- 
erner, who,  failing  in  humor,  challenged  then  and 
there  every  member  of  his  enemy's  fraternity 
and  every  member  of  his  own.  Thereafter  it 
became  the  custom  there  and  at  other  institu- 
tions of  learning  in  the  State  to  settle  all  dis- 
putes fist  and  skull;  and  of  this  Miss  Holden, 
197 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEEXSBERRY 


who  was  no  pacifist,  thoroughly  approved. 
Now  she  was  in  a  community  where  the  ten- 
dency to  kill  seemed  well-nigh  universal.  St. 
Hilda  was  a  gentle  soul,  who  would  never  even 
whip  a  pupil.  She  might  not  approve — but 
Miss  Holden  had  the  spirit  of  the  pioneer  and 
she  must  lead  these  people  into  the  light.  So 
she  told  her  plan  next  day  to  Pleasant  Trouble 
and  Lum  Chapman,  who  were  first  to  come. 
Stolid  Lum  would  have  shown  no  surprise  had 
she  proposed  that  the  two  boys  dive  from  a 
cliff,  and  if  one  survived  he  won;  but  the  won- 
der and  the  succeeding  joy  in  Pleasant's  face 
disturbed  Miss  Holden.  And  when  Pleasant 
swung  his  hat  from  his  head  and  let  out  a  fox- 
hunting yelp  of  pure  ecstasy  she  rebuked  him 
severely,  whereat  the  man  with  the  crutch 
lapsed  into  solemnity. 

"  Will  they  fight  this  way  ? 99  she  asked. 

"  Them  two  boys  will  fight  a  bee-gum  o' 
sucklin'  wildcats — tooth  and  toe-nail." 

"  They  aren't  going  to  fight  that  way,"  pro- 
tested Miss  Holden.  "  They  will  fight  by  the 
Marquis  of — er  Somebody's  rules."  She  ex- 
plained the  best  she  could  the  intervals  of  ac- 
tion and  of  rest,  and  her  hearers  were  vastly 
interested. 

"  They  can't  kick  ?  "  asked  Pleasant. 

"  No." 

198 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


"  Ner  bite  ?  " 

"  No!" 

"  Ner  gouge  ? " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  gouge  '  ?  " 

Pleasant  pantomimed  with  a  thumb-nail 
crooked  on  the  outer  edge  of  each  eye-socket. 

"  No  !  "  was  the  horrified  cry. 

"  Jest  a  square,  stand-up  and  knock-down 
fight  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  she  said  reluctantly  but  bravely. 

"  Lum  will  be  timekeeper  and  referee  to  make 
them  break  away  when  they  clinch."  When 
she  explained  that  Pleasant  scratched  his  head. 

"  They  can't  even  wrassle  V*  Miss  Holden 
understood  and  did  not  correct. 

"  They  can't  even  wrassle.  And  you  and  I 
will  be  the  seconds." 

"  Seconds — whut  do  we  do  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we — we  fan  them  and — and  wash  off 
the  blood,"  she  shivered  a  little  in  spite  of  her- 
self.   Pleasant  smiled  broadly. 

"  Which  one  you  goin'  to  wash  off  ?  " 

"  I — I  don't  know."    Pleasant  grinned. 

"  Well,  we  better  toss  up  fer  it  an'  alter  they 
git  hyeh."  She  did  not  understand  his  em- 
phasis. 

"  Very  well,"  she  assented  carelessly. 
Up  the  road  came  Ham  Cage  now,  and  down 
the  road  came  King  Camp — both  with  a  rapid 
199 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


stride.  Though  both  had  sworn  to  shoot  on 
sight,  they  had  kept  away  from  each  other  as 
they  had  promised,  and  now  without  speaking 
they  glowered  unwinking  into  each  other's 
eyes.  Nor  did  either  ask  a  question  when  the 
little  teacher,  with  two  towels  over  one  arm, 
led  the  way  down  the  road,  up  over  a  little 
ridge,  and  down  to  a  grassy  hollow  by  the  side 
of  a  tinkling  creek.  It  was  hard  for  the  girl 
to  believe  that  these  two  boys  meant  to  shoot 
each  other  as  they  had  threatened,  but  Pleas- 
ant had  told  her  they  surely  would,  and  that 
fact  held  her  purpose  firm.  Without  a  word 
they  listened  while  she  explained,  and  without 
a  word  both  nodded  assent — nor  did  they  show 
any  surprise  when  the  girl  repeated  what  she 
had  told  Pleasant  Trouble  and  Lum  Chapman. 

"  Jes'  a  plain  ole  square,  stand-up  an'  knock- 
down fight/5  murmured  Pleasant  consolingly, 
pulling  forth  a  silver  quarter.  "  Heads — you 
wipe  Ham;  tails — you  wipe  King."  Miss 
Holden  nodded,  and  for  the  first  time  the  two 
lads  turned  their  angry  eyes  from  each  other 
to  the  girl  and  yet  neither  asked  a  question. 
Tails  it  was,  and  the  girl  motioned  King  to  a 
log  on  one  side  of  the  hollow,  and  Pleasant  and 
Ham  to  another  log  on  the  other  side.  She 
handed  Pleasant  one  of  the  towels,  dropped  her 
little  watch  into  Lum's  huge  palm,  and  on 
200 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


second  thought  took  it  back  again:  it  might 
get  broken,  and  Lum  might  be  too  busy  to  keep 
time.  Only  Pleasant  saw  the  gritting  of  Ham's 
teeth  when  she  took  her  stand  by  King's  side. 

"  Take  off  your  coats  !  "  she  said  sharply. 
The  two  obeyed  swiftly. 

"  Time !  "  she  called,  and  the  two  leaped  for 
each  other. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  cried,  and  they  halted.  "  I 
forgot — shake  hands  !  " 

Both  shook  their  heads  instead,  like  mad- 
dened bulls,  and  even  Lum  looked  amazed; 
he  even  spoke: 

"  Whut's  the  use  o'  fightin',  if  they  shakes 
hands  ?  " 

Miss  Holden  had  no  argument  ready,  and 
etiquette  was  waived.  "  Time  !  "  she  repeated, 
and  then  the  two  battering-rams,  revolving 
their  fists  country-fashion,  engaged.  Half- 
forgotten  Homeric  phrases  began  to  flit  from 
a  far-away  schoolroom  back  into  the  little 
teacher's  mind  and  she  began  to  be  consoled 
for  the  absence  of  gloves — those  tough  old 
ancients  had  used  gauges  of  iron  and  steel. 
The  two  boys  were  evenly  matched.  After  a 
few  thundering  body  blows  they  grew  wary,  and 
when  the  round  closed  their  faces  were  un- 
marked, they  had  done  each  other  no  damage, 
and  Miss  Holden  was  thrilled — it  wasn't  so  bad 
20 1 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


after  all.  Each  boy  grabbed  his  own  towel  and 
wiped  the  sweat  off  his  own  face. 

"  Git  at  it,  Ham — git  at  it !  "  encouraged 
Pleasant,  and  Ham  got  at  it.  He  gave  King 
a  wallop  on  the  jaw;  King  came  back  with  a 
jolt  on  the  chin,  and  the  two  embraced  unten- 
derly. 

"  Break  away  1  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Lum  make 
them  break  I  "  Lum  thrust  one  mighty  arm 
between  them  and,  as  they  flailed  unavailingly 
over  it,  threw  them  both  back  with  a  right-and- 
left  sweep.  Both  were  panting  when  the  girl 
called  time,  and  the  first  blood  showed  stream- 
ing from  King's  nose.  Miss  Holden  looked  a 
little  pale,  but  gallantly  she  dipped  the  towel 
in  the  brook  and  went  about  her  work.  Again 
Pleasant  saw  his  principal's  jaw  work  in  a  grit- 
ting movement,  and  he  chuckled  encourage- 
ment so  loudly  that  the  girl  heard  him  and 
looked  around  indignantly.  It  was  inevitable 
that  the  seconds,  even  unconsciously,  should 
take  sides,  and  that  point  was  coming  fast. 
The  girl  did  not  hear  herself  say: 

"  Shift  your  head  and  come  back  from  under- 
neath !  "  And  that  was  what  King  proceeded 
to  do,  and  Ham  got  an  upper-cut  on  the  chin 
that  snapped  his  head  up  and  sprinkled  the 
blue  sky  with  stars  for  him  just  as  .the  bell  of 
the  girl's  voice  sounded  time.    Meanwhile,  up 

202 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


the  road  below  them  came  a  khaki-clad  youth 
and  a  girl — Polly  Sizemore  and  one  of  her  sol- 
dier lovers  who  was  just  home  on  a  furlough. 
Polly  heard  the  noises  in  the  hollow,  cocked  an 
ear,  put  her  finger  on  her  lips,  and  led  him  to 
the  top  of  the  little  ridge  whence  she  could  peek 
over.  Her  amazed  eyes  grew  hot  seeing  the 
Mission  girl,  and  she  turned  and  whispered: 

"  That  fotched-on  woman's  got  'em  fightin'." 

The  soldier's  face  radiated  joy  indeed,  and 
as  unseen  spectators  the  two  noiselessly  settled 
down. 

"  Whur'd  they  learn  to  fight  this  way  ?  " 
whispered  the  soldier — the  army  had  taught 
him.    Polly  whispered  back: 

"  She's  a-larnin'  'em."  The  khaki  boy 
gurgled  his  joy  and  craned  his  neck. 

"  Whut  they  fightin'  about  ?  "  Polly  flushed 
and  turned  her  face. 

"  I — er — I  don't  know."  The  soldier  ob- 
served neither  her  flush  nor  her  hesitation,  for 
King  and  Ham  were  springing  forward  for  an- 
other round;  he  only  muttered  his  disgust  at 
their  awkwardness  and  their  ignorance  of  the 
ring  in  terms  that  were  strange  to  the  girl  by 
his  side. 

"  The  mutts,  the  cheeses,  the  pore  dawgs — 
they  don't  know  how  to  guard  an'  they  ain't 
got  no  lefts." 

203 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEEXSBERRY 


Pleasant  was  advising  and  encouraging  his 
principal  now  openly  and  in  a  loud  voice,  and 
Ham's  face  began  to  twist  with  fury  when  he 
heard  the  Mission  girl  begin  to  spur  on  King. 
With  bared  teeth  he  rushed  forward  and  through 
the  wild  blows  aimed  at  him,  got  both  under- 
holds,  and  King  gave  a  gasping  grunt  as  the 
breath  was  squeezed  quite  out  of  him. 

"  Break ! 99  cried  the  girl.  Lum  tugged  at 
the  locked  hand  and  wrist  behind  King's  back 
and  King's  hands  flew  to  Ham's  throat. 
"  Break  !  Break  !  "  And  Lum  had  literally  to 
tear  them  apart. 

"  Time  !  "  gasped  the  girl.  She  was  on  the 
point  of  tears  now,  but  she  held  them  back  and 
her  mouth  tightened — she  would  give  them  one 
more  round  anyhow.  When  the  battling  pair 
rose  Pleasant  lost  his  head.  He  let  loose  a 
fox-hunting  yell.  He  forgot  his  duty  and  the 
rules;  he  forgot  the  girl — he  forgot  all  but  the 
fight. 

"  Let  'em  loose !  93  he  yelled.  "  Git  at  it, 
boys  !  Go  fer  him,  Ham — whoop — ee — ee  !  " 
The  girl  was  electrified.  Lum  began  cracking 
the  knuckles  of  his  huge  fingers.  Polly  and  the 
soldier  rose  to  their  feet.  That  little  dell  turned 
eons  back.  The  people  there  wore  skins  and 
two  cavemen  who  had  left  their  clubs  at  home 
fought  with  all  the  other  weapons  they  had. 
204 


Let  'em  loose  !  "  he  yelled.    "  Git  at  it,  boys  !    Go  fer  him, 
Ham — whoop-ee-ee  !  " 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


The  Mission  girl  could  never  afterward  piece 
out  the  psychology  of  that  moment  of  world 
darkness,  but  when  she  saw  Ham's  crooked 
thumbs  close  to  King's  eyes  a  weird  and  thrilling 
something  swept  her  out  of  herself.  Her  watch 
dropped  to  the  ground.  She  rushed  forward, 
seized  two  handfuls  of  Ham's  red  hair,  and  felt 
Polly's  two  sinewy  hands  seizing  hers.  Like  a 
tigress  she  flashed  about;  just  in  time  then 
came  the  call  of  civilization,  and  she  answered 
it  with  a  joyous  cry.  Bounding  across  the  creek 
below  came  a  tall  young  man,  who  stopped  sud- 
denly in  sheer  amaze  at  the  scene  and  as  sud- 
denly dashed  on.  With  hair  and  eyes  streaming, 
the  girl  went  to  meet  him  and  rushed  into  his 
arms.    From  that  haven  she  turned. 

"  It's  a  draw  !  "  she  said  faintly.  "  Shake — " 
She  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Ham  and 
King  had  risen  and  were  staring  at  her  and  the 
stranger.  They  looked  at  each  other,  and  then 
saw  Polly  sidling  back  to  the  soldier.  Again 
they  looked  at  each  other,  grinned  at  each 
other,  and,  as  each  turned  for  his  coat — clasped 
hands. 

94  Oh !  "  cried  the  girl,  "  I'm  so  glad." 

"  This  is  not  my  brother,"  she  said,  leading 
the  stranger  forward.  If  she  expected  to  sur- 
prise them,  she  didn't,  for  in  the  hills  brothers 
and  sisters  do  not  rush  into  each  other's  arms. 
205 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEEXSBERRY 


M  It's  my  sweetheart,  and  he's  come  to  take  me 
home.  And  you  won't  shoot  each  other — you 
won't  fight  any  more  ?  "    And  Ham  said: 

"  Not  jes'  at  present   {  and  King  laughed. 

"  I'm  so  glad." 

Pleasant  swung  back  to  the  Mission  House 
with  the  two  foreigners,  and  on  the  way  Miss 
Holden  explained.  The  stranger  was  a  merry 
person,  and  that  part  of  Happy  Valley  rang 
with  his  laughter. 

"  My  !  I  wish  I  had  got  there  earlier — what 
were  they  fighting  about  ?  M 

"  Why,  Polly  Sizemore,  that  pretty  girl  with 
black  hair  who  lost  her  head  when — when — I 
caught  hold  of  Ham."  The  shoulder  of  Pleasant 
Trouble  that  was  not  working  up  and  down 
over  his  crutch  began  to  work  up  and  down  over 
something  else. 

u  What's  the  matter,  Pleasant  r  99  asked  the 
girl. 

"  Xothin'."  But  he  was  grinning  when  they 
reached  the  steps  of  the  Mission,  and  he  turned 
on  Miss  Holden  a  dancing  eye. 

66  Polly  nothin* — them  two  boys  was  a-fight- 
in'  about  you  !  n  And  he  left  her  aghast  and 
wheeled  chuckling  away. 

Next  afternoon  the  Marquise  bade  her  little 
brood  a  tearful  good-by  and  rode  with  her 
206 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


lover  up  Happy  Valley  to  go  over  the  mountain, 
on  to  the  railroad,  and  back  into  the  worldo 
At  the  mouth  of  Wolf  Run  Pleasant  Trouble 
was  waiting  to  shake  hands. 

"  Tell  Polly  good-by  for  me,  Pleasant,"  said 
Miss  Holden.    "  She  wasn't  there." 

"  Polly  and  the  soldier  boy  rid  up  to  the 
Leetle  Jedge  o'  Happy  Valley  last  night  to  git 
married." 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Holden,  and  she  flushed  a 
little.  "  And  Ham  and  King  weren't  there — 
where  do  you  suppose  they  are  ?  "  Pleasant 
pointed  to  a  green  little  hollow  high  up  a  ravine. 

"  They're  up  thar." 

"  Alone  ?  "  Pleasant  nodded  and  Miss  Hol- 
den looked  anxious. 

"  They  aren't  fighting  again  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no  !  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  they  are  really  friends 
now  ?  " 

"  Ham  an'  King  air  as  lovin'  as  a  pair  o' 
twins,"  said  Pleasant  decidedly,  and  Miss  Hol- 
den looked  much  pleased. 

"  What  on  earth  are  they  doing  up  there  ?  " 

"  Well,"  drawled  Pleasant,  "  when  they  ain't 
huggin'  an'  shakin'  hands  they're  wrasslin'  with 
a  jug  o'  moonshine." 

The  Mission  girl  looked  disturbed,  and  the 
merry  stranger  let  loose  his  ringing  laugh. 
207 


THE  MARQUISE  OF  QUEENSBERRY 


"  Oh,  dear !  Now,  where  do  you  suppose 
they  got  moonshine  ?  " 

"  I  tol'  you/5  repeated  Pleasant,  "  that  I 
didn't  know  nobody  who  couldn't  git  moon- 
shine." Miss  Holden  sighed,  her  lover  laughed 
again,  and  they  rode  away,  Pleasant  watching 
them  till  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"  Whut  I  aimed  to  say  was,"  corrected  Pleas- 
ant mentally,  "  I  didn't  know  nobody  who 
knowed  me  that  couldn't  git  it."  And  he  jingled 
the  coins  in  his  pockets  that  at  daybreak  that 
morning  had  been  in  the  pockets  of  Ham  and 
King. 


208 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


HE  sergeant  got  the  wounded  man  to  his 
feet  and  threw  one  arm  around  his  waist. 


Then  he  all  but  carried  him,  stumbling  along, 
with  both  hands  clasped  across  his  eyes,  down 
the  ravine  that  looked  at  night  like  some  pit 
of  hell.  For  along  their  path  a  thousand  coke- 
ovens  spat  forth  red  tongues  that  licked  north- 
ward with  the  wind,  shot  red  arrows  into  the 
choking  black  smoke  that  surged  up  the  moun- 
tainside, and  lighted  with  fire  the  bellies  of  the 
clouds  rolling  overhead. 

"  Whar  you  takin'  me  ?  " 

"  Hospital."  The  mountaineer  stopped  sud- 
denly. 

"  Why,  I  can't  see  them  ovens  !  " 
"  You  come  on,  Jim." 

Next  morning  Jim  lay  on  a  cot  with  a  sheet 
drawn  to  his  chin  and  a  grayish-yellow  band- 
age covering  forehead  and  eyes  down  to  the 
tip  of  his  nose.  When  the  surgeon  lifted  that 
bandage  the  nurse  turned  her  face  aside,  and 
what  was  under  it,  or  rather  what  was  not 
under  it,  shall  not  be  told.  Only  out  in  the 
operating-room  the  smooth-faced  young  assist- 


209 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


ant  was  curiously  counting  over  some  round 
leaden  pellets,  and  he  gave  one  low  whistle 
when  he  pushed  into  a  pile  a  full  fourscore. 

"  He  said  he  was  a-lookin'  through  a  key- 
hole/' the  sergeant  reported,  "  an'  somebody 
let  him  have  it  with  both  barrels — but  that 
don't  go.  Jim  wouldn't  be  lookin'  through  no 
keyhole;  he'd  bust  the  door  down." 

Nor  could  the  sergeant  learn  more.  He  had 
found  the  man  stumbling  down  Possum  Hol- 
low, and  up  that  hollow  the  men  and  women 
of  the  mining  camp  did  not  give  one  another 
away. 

"  It  might  'a'  been  any  one  of  a  dozen  fellers 
I  know,"  the  sergeant  said,  for  Jim  was  a  feuds- 
man  and  had  his  enemies  by  the  score. 

The  man  on  the  cot  said  nothing.  Once,  to 
be  sure,  when  he  was  crossing  the  border  of 
Etherland,  and  once  only,  he  muttered :  "  Yes, 
she  come  from  Happy  Valley,  but  she  was  a 
cat,  no  doubt  about  that.  Yes,  sir,  the  old  girl 
was  a  cat."  But  when  he  was  conscious  that 
much  even  he  never  would  say  again.  He  sim- 
ply lay  grim,  quiet,  uncomplaining,  and  not 
even  the  surgeon,  whose  step  he  got  quickly  to 
know,  could  get  him  to  tell  who  had  done  the 
deed. 

On  the  fourth  day  he  showed  some  cheer. 
"  Look  here,  doc,"  he  said,  "  when  you  goin' 
210 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


to  take  this  rag  off  o'  my  eyes  ?  I  hain't  seen 
a  wink  since  I  come  in  here/5 

"  Oh,  pretty  soon,"  said  the  surgeon,  and 
the  nurse  turned  away  again  with  drops  in  her 
eyes  that  would  never  be  for  the  wounded  man's 
eyes  to  shed  again. 

On  the  sixth  day  his  pulse  was  fast  and  his 
blood  was  high — and  that  night  the  nurse  knew 
precisely  what  meant  the  look  in  the  surgeon's 
face  when  he  motioned  her  to  leave  the  room. 
Then  he  bent  to  lift  the  bandage  once  more. 

"  Why  don't  you  take  'em  all  off,  doc  ?  I'd 
like  to  see  the  old  girl  again.  Has  she  gone  back 
to  Happy  Valley  ?  " 

"  No — she's  here." 

u  Won't  she  come  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she'll  come,  but  she  can't  now — she's 
sick  abed."   The  man  grinned. 

"  Yes,  I  know  them  spells." 

"  Jim,"  said  the  surgeon  suddenly,  "  I'm 
going  to  be  very  busy  to-morrow,  and  if  you've 
got  any  message  to  send  to  anybody  or  any- 
thing to  say  to  me,  you'd  better  say  it  before 
I  go."  He  spoke  carelessly,  but  with  a  little  too 
much  care. 

The  sheet  moved  over  the  hands  clasped 
across  Jim's  breast.  "  Why,  doc,  you  don't 
mean  to  say — "  He  stopped  and  drew  in  one 
breath  slowly. 

211 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


"  Oh,  no,  but  you  can't  always  tell,  and  I 
might  not  get  back  till  late,  and  I  thought  you 
might  have  something  to  tell  me  about — "  He 
paused  helplessly,  and  the  man  on  the  cot  began 
moving  his  lips.    The  surgeon  bent  low. 

"  Why,  doc/'  he  said  very  slowly,  "  you — 
don't — really — mean — to — say — that  the  old — " 
his  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper,  "  has  finished 
me  this  time  ?  " 

"  Who  finished  you,  Jim — who'd  you  say 
finished  you  ?  " 

A  curious  smile  flitted  over  the  coarse  lips 
and  passed.  Then  the  lips  tightened  and  the 
thought  behind  the  bandage  made  its  way  to 
the  surgeon's  quick  brain,  and  there  was  a  long 
silence. 

At  last: 

"  Doc,  d'you  ever  hear  tell  of  a  woman  bein' 
hung  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jim." 
And  then: 

"  Doc,  am  I  goin'  shore  ?  "  This  question 
the  surgeon  answered  with  another,  bending  low. 

"  Jim,  what  message  shall  I  give  your  wife  ?  " 
The  curious  smile  came  back. 

"  Doc,  this  is  Christmas,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jim." 

"  Doc,  you're  shore,  air  ye,  that  nobody 
knows  who  done  it  ?  " 

212 


HIS  LAST  CHRISTMAS  GIFT 


"  Nobody  but  you,  Jim/' 

The  man  had  been  among  men  the  terror  of 
the  hills  for  years,  but  on  the  last  words  that 
passed  his  gray  lips  his  soul  must  have  swung 
upward  toward  the  soul  of  the  Man  who  lived 
and  died  for  the  peace  of  those  hills. 

"  Doc,"  he  said  thickly,  "  you  jus'  tell  the 
old  girl  Jim  says:  '  Happy  Christmas  ! 9  99 

The  surgeon  started  back  at  the  grim  cheer 
of  that  message,  but  he  took  it  like  a  priest  and 
carried  it  back  through  the  little  hell  that  flared 
down  the  ravine  on  Jim  now  through  the  win- 
dow. And  like  a  priest  he  told  it  to  but  one 
living  soul. 


213 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


HE  had  violet  eyes,  the  smile  of  a  seraph, 
and  a  halo  of  yellow  hair,  and  he  came 
from  Viper,  which  is  a  creek  many,  many  hills 
away  from  Happy  Valley.  He  came  on  foot 
and  alone  to  St.  Hilda,  who  said  sadly  that  she 
had  no  room  for  him.  But  she  sighed  help- 
lessly when  the  Angel  smiled — and  made  room 
for  him.  To  the  teachers  he  became  Willie — 
to  his  equals  he  was  Bill.  In  a  few  weeks  he 
got  homesick  and,  without  a  word,  disap- 
peared. A  fortnight  later  he  turned  up  again 
with  a  little  brother,  and  again  he  smiled  at 
St.  Hilda. 

"  Jeems  Henery  hyeh,"  he  said,  "  'lowed  as 
how  hed  come  along  " — and  James  Henry  got 
a  home.  Jeems  was  eight,  and  the  Angel,  who 
was  ten,  was  brother  and  father  to  him.  He 
saw  to  it  that  Jeems  Henery  worked  and  worked 
hard  and  that  he  behaved  himself,  so  that  his 
concern  for  the  dull,  serious  little  chap  touched 
St.  Hilda  deeply.  That  concern  seemed,  in- 
deed, sacrificial — and  was. 

When  spring  breathed  on  the  hills  the  Angel 
214 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


got  restless.  He  was  homesick  again  and  must 
go  to  see  his  mother. 

"But,  Willie/'  said  St.  Hilda,  "you  told  me 
your  mother  died  two  years  ago." 

"  She  come  might'  nigh  dyin',"  said  the  Angel. 
"  That's  what  I  said."  St.  Hilda  reasoned  with 
him  to  no  avail,  and  because  she  knew  he  would 
go  anyhow  gave  him  permission. 

"  Miss  Hildy,  I'm  a-leavin'  Jeems  Henery 
with  ye  now,  an'  I  reckon  I  oughter  tell  you 
somethin'." 

"  Yes,  Willie,"  answered  St.  Hilda  absently. 

"  Miss  Hildy,  Jeems  Henery  is  the  bigges' 
liar  on  Viper." 

"Yes,"  repeated  St.  Hilda;  "what?" 

"  The  truth  ain't  in  Jeems  Henery,"  the 
Angel  went  on  placidly.  "  You  can't  lam'  it 
inter  'im  an'  tain't  no  use  to  try.  You  jus' 
watch  him  close  while  I'm  gone." 

"I  will." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Angel  put  his  hand 
gently  on  St.  Hilda's  knee,  and  his  violet  eyes 
were  troubled.  "  Miss  Hildy,"  he  said  solemnly, 
"  Jeems  Henery  is  the  cussin'est  boy  on  Viper. 
I  reckon  Jeems  Henery  is  the  cussin'est  boy  in 
the  world.  You've  got  to  watch  him  while  I'm 
gone,  or  no  tellin'  whut  he  will  larn  them  young 
uns  o'  yours." 

"  All  right.   I'll  do  the  best  I  can." 

215 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


"  An'  that  ain't  all,"  added  the  Angel 
solemnly.  "  Jeems  Henery  " — St.  Hilda  almost 
held  her  breath — "  Jeems  Henery  is  the  gam- 
blin'est  boy  on  Viper.  Jeems  Henery  jes'  can't 
look  at  a  marble  without  tremblin'  all  over.  If 
you  don't  watch  him  like  a  hawk  while  I'm  gone 
I  reckon  Jeems  Henery'll  larn  them  young  uns 
o'  yours  all  the  devilment  in  the  world." 

"  Gracious  !  " 

James  Henry  veered  into  view  just  then 
around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"  Jeems  Henery,"  called  the  Angel  sternly, 
"  come  hyeh  !  "  And  James  Henry  stood  be- 
fore the  bar  of  the  Angel's  judgment. 

"  Jeems  Henery,  air  you  the  gamblin'est 
boy  on  Viper  ?  "  James  Henry  nodded  cheer- 
fully. 

"  Air  you  the  cussin'est  boy  on  Viper  ? " 
Again  there  was  a  nod  of  cheerful  acknowledg- 
ment. 

"  Jeems  Henery,  air  you  the  bigges'  liar  on 
Viper  ?  "  James  Henry,  looking  with  adoring 
eyes  at  the  Angel,  nodded  shameless  shame  for 
the  third  time,  and  the  Angel  turned  trium- 
phantly. 

"  Thar  now  !  "  Astounded,  St.  Hilda  looked 
from  one  brother  to  the  other. 

"  Well,  not  one  word  of  this  have  I  heard 
before." 

216 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


"  Jeems  Henery  is  a  sly  un — ain't  you,  Jeems 
Henery  ?  " 
"  Uh-huh." 

"  Ain't  nobody  who  can  ketch  up  with  Jeems 
Henery  'ceptin'  me." 

"  Well,  Willie,  if  this  is  more  than  I  can 
handle,  don't  you  think  you'd  better  not  go 
home  but  stay  here  and  help  me  with  James 
Henry  ?  "   The  Angel  did  not  even  hesitate. 

"  I  reckon  I  better,"  he  said,  and  he  visibly 
swelled  with  importance.  "  I  had  to  lam' 
Jeems  Henery  this  mornin',  an'  I  reckon  I'll 
have  to  keep  on  lammin'  him  'most  every 
day." 

"  Don't  you  lam'  James  Henry  at  all,"  said 
St.  Hilda  decisively. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Angel.  "  Jeems  Henery, 
git  about  yo'  work  now." 

Thereafter  St.  Hilda  kept  watch  on  James 
Henry  and  he  was,  indeed,  a  sly  one.  There 
was  gambling  going  on.  St.  Hilda  did  not  en- 
courage tale-bearing,  but  she  knew  it  was  going 
on.  Still  she  could  not  catch  James  Henry. 
One  day  the  Angel  came  to  her. 

"  I've  got  Jeems  Henery  to  stop  gamblin'," 
he  whispered,  "  an'  I  didn't  have  to  lam'  him." 
And,  indeed,  gambling  thereafter  ceased.  The 
young  man  who  had  come  for  the  summer  to 
teach  the  boys  the  games  of  the  outside  world 
217 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


reported  that  much  swearing  had  been  going 
on  but  that  swearing  too  had  stopped. 

"  I've  got  Jeems  Henery  to  stop  cussing" 
reported  the  Angel,  and  so  St.  Hilda  rewarded 
him  with  the  easy  care  of  the  nice  new  stable 
she  had  built  on  the  hillside.  His  duty  was  to 
clean  it  and  set  things  in  order  every  day. 

Some  ten  days  later  she  was  passing  near 
the  scene  of  the  Angel's  new  activities,  and  she 
hailed  him. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along  ?  "  she  called. 

"  Come  right  on,  Miss  Hildy,"  shouted  the 
Angel.  "  I  got  ever'thing  cleaned  up.  Come 
on  an'  look  in  the  furthest  corners  !  " 

St.  Hilda  went  on,  but  ten  minutes  later  she 
had  to  pass  that  way  again  and  she  did  look 
in.  Nothing  had  been  done.  The  stable  was 
in  confusion  and  a  pitchfork  lay  prongs  upward 
midway  of  the  barn  door. 

"  How's  this,  Ephraim  ?  "  she  asked,  mysti- 
fied. Ephraim  was  a  fourteen-year-old  boy  who 
did  the  strenuous  work  of  the  barn. 

"  Why,  Miss  Hildy,  I  jes'  hain't  had  time  to 
clean  up  yit." 

"  You  haven't  had  time  ?  "  she  echoed  in 
more  mystery.  "  That  isn't  your  work — it's 
Willie's."    It  was  Ephraim's  turn  for  mystery. 

"  Why,  Miss  Hildy,  Willie  told  me  more'n  a 
218 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


week  ago  that  you  said  fer  me  to  do  all  the 
cleanin'  up." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  youVe  been  doing 
this  work  for  over  a  week  ?  What's  Willie  been 
doing  ?  " 

"  Not  a  lick — jes*  settin'  aroun'  studyin'  an5 
whistlin'." 

St.  Hilda  went  swiftly  down  the  hill,  herself 
in  deep  study,  and  she  summoned  the  Angel  to 
the  bar  of  her  judgment.  The  Angel  writhed 
and  wormed,  but  it  was  no  use,  and  at  last  with 
smile,  violet  eyes,  and  halo  the  Angel  spoke  the 
truth.  Then  a  great  light  dawned  for  St.  Hilda, 
and  she  played  its  searching  rays  on  the  Angel's 
past  and  he  spoke  more  truth,  leaving  her  gasp- 
ing and  aghast. 

"  Why — why  did  you  say  all  that  about  your 
poor  little  brother  ?  " 

The  Angel's  answer  was  prompt.  "  Why,  I 
figgered  that  you  couldn't  ketch  Jeems  Henery 
an'  wouldn't  ketch  me.  An',''  the  Angel  added 
dreamily,  "  it  come  might'  nigh  bein'  that-a- 
way  if  I  just  had  " 

"  You're  a  horrid,  wicked  little  boy,"  St. 
Hilda  cried,  but  the  Angel  would  not  be  per- 
turbed, for  he  was  a  practical  moralist. 

"  Jeems  Henery,"  he  called  into  space,  "  come 
hyeh  !  "  And  out  of  space  James  Henry  came, 
219 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


as  though  around  the  corner  he  had  been  wait- 
ing the  summons. 

"  Jeems  Henery,  who  was  the  gamblin'est, 
cussin'est,  lyin'est  boy  on  Viper  ?  99 

"  My  big  brother  Bill ! 99  shouted  Jeems 
Henery  proudly. 

"  Who  stopped  gamblin',  cussin',  an'  lyin5  ?  99 

"  My  big  brother  Bill ! " 

"  Who  stopped  all  these  young  uns  o'  Miss 
Hildy's  from  cussin'  an'  gamblin'  ?  "  And 
Jeems  Henery  shouted:  "  My  big  brother 
Bill !  "  The  Angel,  well  pleased,  turned  to  St. 
Hilda. 

"  Thar  nowT,"  he  said  triumphantly,  and  see- 
ing that  he  had  reduced  St.  Hilda  to  helpless 
pulp  he  waved  his  hand. 

"  Git  back  to  yo'  work,  Jeems  Henery."  But 
St.  Hilda  was  not  yet  all  pulp. 

"  Willie,"  she  asked  warily,  "  when  did  you 
stop  lying  r  " 

"  Why,  jes'  now  !  "  There  was  in  the  Angel's 
face  a  trace  of  wonder  at  St.  Hilda's  lack  of  un- 
derstanding. 

"  How  did  James  Henry  know  r  "  The  mild 
wonder  persisted. 

"  Jeems  Henery  knows  me  !  99  St.  Hilda  was 
all  pulp  now,  but  it  was  late  afternoon,  and 
birds  were  singing  in  the  woods,  and  her  little 
220 


THE  ANGEL  FROM  VIPER 


people  were  singing  as  they  worked  in  fields; 
and  her  heart  was  full.    She  spoke  gently. 

"  Go  on  back  to  work,  Willie/'  she  was  about 
to  say,  but  the  Angel  had  gone  a-dreaming  and 
his  face  was  sad,  and  she  said  instead : 

"  What  is  it,  Willie  ?  " 

"  I  know  whut's  been  the  matter  with  me, 
Miss  Hildy — I  hain't  been  the  same  since  my 
mother  died  six  year  ago."  For  a  moment  St. 
Hilda  took  a  little  silence  to  gain  self-control. 

"  You  mean,"  she  said  sternly,  "  *  come 
might9  nigh  dyin'/  Willie,  and  two  years  ago." 

"  Well,  Miss  Hildy,  hit  'pears  like  six."  Her 
brain  whirled  at  the  working  of  his,  but  his 
eyes,  his  smile,  and  the  halo,  glorified  just  then 
by  a  bar  of  sunlight,  were  too  much  for  St. 
Hilda,  and  she  gathered  him  into  her  arms. 

"Oh,  Willie,  Willie,"  she  half-sobbed,  "I 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  you  !  "  And  then, 
to  comfort  her,  the  Angel  spoke  gently: 

"  Miss  Hildy,  jes'  don't  do— nothin'." 


221 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


HE  entered  a  log  cabin  in  the  Kentucky 
hills.  An  old  woman  with  a  pair  of 
scissors  cut  the  tie  that  bound  him  to  his  mother 
and  put  him  in  swaddling-clothes  of  homespun. 
Now,  in  silk  pajamas,  with  three  doctors  and 
two  nurses  to  make  his  going  easy,  he  was  on 
his  way  out  of  a  suite  of  rooms  ten  stories  above 
the  splendor  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

It  was  early  morning.  A  taxi  swung  into  the 
paved  circle  in  front  of  the  hotel  below  and  a 
little  man  in  slouch  hat  and  black  frock  coat, 
and  with  his  trousers  in  his  boots,  stepped 
gingerly  out.  He  took  off  the  hat  with  one 
hand,  dropped  his  saddle-pockets  from  the 
other,  and  mopped  his  forehead  with  a  bandanna 
handkerchief. 

"  My  God,  brother,"  he  said  to  the  grinning 
driver,  "  I  tol'  ye  to  hurry,  but  I  didn't  'low 
you'd  fly  !  How  much  d'  I  owe  ye  an'  how  do 
I  git  in  hyeh  ?  " 

A  giant  in  a  gold-braided  uniform  had  picked 
up  the  saddle-pockets  when  the  little  man 
turned. 

222 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


"  Well,  now,  that's  clever  of  ye,"  he  said, 
thrusting  out  his  hand.  "  I  reckon  you  air  the 
proprietor — how's  the  Pope  ?  " 

Sure,  I  dunno,  sor — this  way,  sor."  The 
astonished  giant  pointed  to  the  swinging  door 
and  turned  for  light  to  the  taxi  man  who, 
doubled  with  laughter  over  his  wheel,  tapped 
his  forehead.  At  the  desk  the  little  man  pushed 
his  hat  back  and  put  both  elbows  down. 

"  Whar's  the  Pope  ?  " 

"  The  Pope  !  "  From  behind,  the  giant  was 
making  frantic  signs,  but  the  clerk's  brow 
cleared.    "  Oh,  yes — front !  " 

The  little  man  gasped  and  swayed  as  the 
elevator  shot  upward,  but  a  moment  later  the 
little  judge  of  Happy  Valley  and  the  Pope  of 
the  Big  Sandy  were  hand  in  hand. 

"  How're  yo'  folks,  judge  ?  " 

"  Stirrin' — how're  you,  Jim  ?  " 

"  Ain't  stirrin'  at  all." 

"  Shucks,  you'll  be  up  an'  aroun'  in  no  time." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  git  up  again." 

"  Don't  you  git  stubborn  now,  Jim." 

A  nurse  brought  in  some  medicine  and  the 
Pope  took  it  with  a  wry  face.  The  judge  reached 
for  his  saddle-pockets  and  pulled  out  a  bottle 
of  white  liquor  with  a  stopper  of  corn-shucks. 

"  This'll  take  the  bad  taste  out  o'  yo'  mouth." 

"  The  docs  won't  let  me — but  lemme  smell 
223 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


it."  The  judge  had  whipped  out  a  twist  of 
long  green  and  again  the  Pope  shook  his  head: 

"  Can't  drink — can't  chaw  !  " 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  "  The  judge  bit  off  a  mouthful 
and  a  moment  later  walked  to  the  window  and, 
with  his  first  and  second  fingers  forked  over  his 
lips,  ejected  an  amber  stream. 

"  Good  Lord,  judge — don't  do  that.  You'll 
splatter  a  million  people."  He  called  for  a 
spittoon  and  the  judge  grunted  disgustedly. 

"  I'd  hate  to  live  in  a  place  whar  a  feller  can't 
spit  out  o'  his  own  window." 

"  Don't  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Hit  looks  like  circus  day — I  got  the  head- 
ache already." 

A  telegram  was  brought  in. 

"  Been  seein'  a  lot  about  you  in  the  papers," 
said  the  judge,  and  the  Pope  waved  wearily  to 
a  pile  of  dailies.  There  were  columns  about  him 
in  those  papers — about  his  meteoric  rise:  how 
he  started  a  poor  boy  in  the  mountains,  studied 
by  candle-light,  taught  school  in  the  hills :  how 
a  vision  of  their  future  came  to  him  even  that 
early  and  how  he  clung  to  that  vision  all  his  life, 
turning,  twisting  for  option  money  on  coal 
lands,  making  a  little  sale  now  and  then,  but 
always  options  and  more  options  and  sales  and 
more  sales,  until  now  the  poor  mountain  boy 
was  a  king  among  the  coal  barons  of  the  land. 
224 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


"  Judge/'  said  the  Pope,  "  the  votings  started 
down  home." 

"  How's  it  goin'  ?  " 
"  Easy." 

"  Been  spendin'  any  money  ? " 

"  Not  a  cent." 

"  Ole  Bill  Maddox  is." 

"  Why,  judge,  I'm  the  daddy  an'  grandaddy 
o'  that  town.  I  built  streets  and  sidewalks  for 
it  out  o'  my  own  pocket.  I  put  up  two  churches 
for  'em.  I  built  the  water-works,  the  bank,  an' 
God  knows  what  all.  Ole  Bill  Maddox  can't 
turn  a  wheel  against  me99  The  little  judge  was 
marvelling:  here  was  a  man  who  had  refused 
all  his  life  to  run  for  office,  who  could  have  been 
congressman,  senator,  governor;  and  who  had 
succumbed  at  last. 

"  Jim,  what  in  blue  hell  do  you  want  that 
office  fer  ?  " 

"  To  make  folks  realize  their  duties  as  citi- 
zens," said  the  Pope  patiently;  "to  maintain 
streets  and  sidewalks  and  water-works  and 
sewers  an'  become  an  independent  community, 
instead  o'  layin'  back  on  other  folks  !  " 

"  How  about  all  them  churches  you  been 
buildin'  all  over  them  mountains— air  they  self- 
sustainin'  ?  " 

"  Well,  they  do  need  a  little  help  now  and 
then."   The  judge  grunted. 

225 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


Through  the  morning  many  cards  were 
brought  the  Pope,  but  the  doctors  allowed  no 
business.  To  amuse  himself  the  Pope  sent  the 
judge  into  the  sitting-room  to  listen  to  the  mil- 
lion-dollar project  of  one  sleek  young  man,  and 
the  judge  reported: 

"  Nothin'  doin' — he's  got  a  bad  eye." 

"  Right,"  said  the  Pope.  At  twelve  o'clock 
the  judge  looked  at  his  watch: 

"  Dinner-time."  And  the  Pope  ordered  his 
old  mountain  friend  cabbage,  bacon,  and  greens. 

"  Judge,  I  got  to  sleep  now.  I've  got  a  car 
down  below.  After  dinner  you  can  take  a  ride 
or  you  can  take  a  walk." 

"  You  can't  git  me  into  a  automobile  an'  I'm 
afeard  to  walk.  I'd  git  run  over.  I'll  jus' 
hang  aroun'." 

Another  telegram  was  brought  in. 

"  Runnin'  easy  an'  winnin'  in  a  walk,"  said 
the  Pope.  "  It's  a  cinch.  You  can  open  any- 
thing else  that  comes  while  I'm  asleep." 

The  judge  himself  had  not  slept  well  on  the 
train;  so  he  took  off  his  boots,  put  his  yarn- 
stockinged  feet  in  one  chair,  and  sitting  up  in 
another  took  a  nap.  An  hour  later  the  Pope 
called  for  him.  The  last  telegram  reported  that 
he  was  so  far  ahead  that  none  others  would  be 
sent  until  the  committee  started  to  count  bal- 
lots. 

226 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


"  I've  made  you  an  executor  in  my  will, 
judge,"  he  said,  "  an'  I  want  you  to  see  that 
some  things  are  done  yourself."  The  judge 
nodded. 

"  I  want  you  to  have  a  new  church  built  in 
Happy  Valley.  I  want  you  to  give  St.  Hilda 
and  that  settlement  school  five  thousand  a 
year.  An'  " — he  paused — "  you  know  ole  Bill 
Maddox  cut  me  out  an'  married  Sally  Ann 
Spurlock — how  many  children  they  got  now, 
judge?  " 

"  Ten — oldest,  sixteen." 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  see  that  every  gol- 
durned  one  of  'em  gits  the  chance  to  go  to 
school." 

Now,  old  Bill  Maddox  was  running  against 
the  Pope,  and  was  fighting  him  hard,  and  the 
judge  hated  old  Bill  Maddox;  so  he  said  noth- 
ing.  The  Pope  too  was  silent  a  long  while. 

"  Judge,  I  got  all  my  money  out  o'  the  moun- 
tain folks.    I  robbed  'em  right  and  left." 

"  You  ain't  never  robbed  nobody  in  Happy 
Valley,"  said  the  judge  a  little  grimly,  and  the 
Pope  chuckled. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't  let  me.  I  got  all  my 
money  from  'em  an'  do  you  know  what  I'm 
goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"  Git  some  more,  I  reckon." 

The  Pope  chuckled  again:  "I'm  a-goin'  to 
227 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


give  it  back  to  'em.  Churches,  schools,  libraries, 
hospitals,  good  roads — any  durned  thing  in  the 
world  that  will  do  'em  any  good.  It's  all  in  my 
will.  An',  judge,"  he  added  with  a  little  em- 
barrassment, "  I've  sort  o'  fixed  it  so  that  when 
you  want  to  help  out  a  widder  or  a  orphan  in 
Happy  Valley  you  can  do  it  without  always 
diggin'  down  into  yo'  own  jeans." 

"  Shucks,  don't  you  worry  about  me  or  the 
folks  in  Happy  Valley — you  done  enough  fer 
them  lettin'  'em  alone;  an'  that  durned  ole 
Bill  Maddox,  he's  a  fightin'  you  right  now  afore 
yo'  face  an'  behind  yo'  back.    He's  the  mean- 


"  Makes  no  difference.  His  children  ain't  to 
blame  an'  thar's  Sally  Ann."  The  Pope  yawned 
and  his  brow  wrinkled  with  pain.  "  I  better 
take  a  little  more  sleep,  judge."  A  doctor  came 
in  and  felt  the  Pope's  pulse  and  the  judge  left 
the  room  worried  by  the  physician's  face  and 
his  whispered  direction  to  the  nurse  to  summon 
another  doctor. 

An  hour  later  the  Pope  called  him  back,  and 
his  voice  was  weak : 

"  Bring  in  every  telegram,  judge." 

"  You  mustn't  bother,"  interposed  the  doc- 
tor firmly,  and  the  Pope's  mouth  set  and  the 
old  dominant  gleam  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Bring  in  every  telegram,"  he  repeated. 
228 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


Outside,  in  the  hallway,  the  judge  waylaid  the 
doctor. 

"  Ain't  he  goin'  to  pull  through  ?  " 
"  One  chance  in  a  thousand,"  was  the  curt 
answer. 

About  three  o'clock  the  judge  got  a  telegram 
that  made  him  swear  fearfully,  and  thereafter 
they  came  fast.  The  Pope  would  use  no  money. 
The  judge  wired  the  Pope's  manager  warily 
offering  a  thousand  of  his  own.  The  answer 
came — "  Too  late."  At  five  o'clock  they  were 
running  neck  and  neck.  Ten  minutes  before  the 
polls  closed  old  Bill  Maddox  rounded  up  twenty 
more  votes  and  victory  was  his.  And  all  the 
while  the  judge  was  making  reports  to  the 
Pope: 

"  Runnin'  easy." 

"  It's  a  cinch." 

"  Ole  Bill  fighting  tooth  and  toe-nail  but  you 
got  him,  Jim." 

"  Countin'  the  votes  now." 

"  Air  ye  shore,  Jim,  you  want  to  leave  all 
that  money  fer  old  Bill's  brats  ? — he's  a  hound." 

"  Ole  Bill  comin'  up  a  little,  Jim." 

And  then  came  that  last  telegram,  reporting 
defeat,  and  with  it  crushed  in  his  hand  the 
judge  made  his  last  report: 

"  All  over.  You've  got  'em,  Jim.  Hooray  ! 
Can't  you  hear  'em  yell  ?  "  The  Pope's  white 
229 


THE  POPE  OF  THE  BIG  SANDY 


mouth  smiled  and  his  eyelids  flickered,  but  his 
eyes  stayed  closed. 

"  Jim,  1  wouldn't  give  all  that  money  to  old 
Bill's  brats — just  some  fer  Sally  Ann." 

"All  of  it  for  old  Bill's— for  Sally  Ann's 
children,  the  mountain  folks,  an'  the  old  home 
town."  The  Pope  opened  his  eyes  and  he  spoke: 

"  All  of  you — nurses  an'  docs — git  out  o' 
here,  please."  And  knowing  that  the  end  was 
nigh  they  quietly  withdrew. 

"  Judge,  you  ain't  no  actor — you're  a  ham  !  " 

"  Whut  you  mean,  Jim?"  asked  the  judge, 
for  in  truth  he  did  not  understand — not  just 
then.  The  roar  of  the  city  rose  from  bekrvv, 
but  the  sunset  came  through  the  window  as 
through  all  windows  of  the  world.  The  Pope's 
hand  reached  for  the  judge's  hand.  His  lips 
moved  and  the  judge  bent  low. 

"Beat!"  whispered  the  Pope;  "beat,  by 
God  !  Beat — for — councilman — in — my — own 
home  town."  And  because  he  knew  his  fellow 
man,  the  good  and  the  bad,  the  Pope  passed 
with  a  smile. 


230 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


I 

THE  professor  stood  at  the  window  of  his 
study  waiting  for  Her  to  come  home. 
The  wind  outside  was  high  and  whipped  her 
skirts  close  to  her  magnificent  body  as,  breast- 
ing it  unconcernedly,  she  came  with  a  long, 
slow  stride  around  a  corner  down  the  street. 
Now,  as  always  whenever  he  saw  her  move, 
he  thought  of  the  line  in  Virgil,  for  even  in  her 
walk  she  showed  the  goddess.  And  Juno  was 
her  name. 

He  met  her  at  the  door  and  he  did  not  have 
to  stoop  to  kiss  her.  "  What  is  it,  dear  ?  "  he 
said  quickly,  for  deep  in  her  eyes,  which  looked 
level  with  his,  he  saw  trouble. 

She  handed  him  a  letter  and  walked  to  the 
window — looking  out  at  the  gathering  storm. 
The  letter  was  from  her  home  away  down  in 
the  Kentucky  hills — from  the  Mission  teacher 
in  Happy  Valley. 

There  was  an  epidemic  of  typhoid  down  there. 
It  was  spreading  through  the  school  and  through 
231 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


the  hills.  They  were  without  nurses  or  doctors, 
and  they  needed  help. 

"  Too  bad,  too  bad/'  he  murmured,  and  he 
turned  anxiously. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her 
breath.  "  One  cabin  is  built  above  another 
all  the  way  up  the  creeks  down  there.  The 
springs  are  by  the  stream.  High  water  floods 
all  of  them,  and  the  infection  goes  with  the 
tide.  And  the  poor  things  don't  know — they 
don't  know.    Oh,  I  must  go !  " 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  and  then  he  got 
up  and  put  his  arms  about  her.  He  was  smil- 
ing. 

"  Then,  I'll  go  with  you."  She  wheeled 
quickly. 

"  No,  no,  no !  You  can't  leave  your  work, 
and — remember  !  " 

He  did  remember  how  useless  it  had  been  to 
argue  with  her,  and  he  knew  it  was  useless  now. 
Moreover,  if  she  was  going  at  all,  it  was  like 
her  to  go  at  once — like  her  to  go  up-stairs  at 
once  to  her  packing  and  leave  him  in  the  dark- 
ened study  alone. 

They  had  been  married  two  years.  He  had 
seen  her  first  entering  his  own  classroom,  and 
straightway  that  Latin  line  took  permanent 
quarters  in  his  brain,  so  that  he  was  almost 
startled  when  he  learned  her  Olympic  name.  It 
232 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


was  not  long  before  he  found  himself  irresistibly 
drawn  to  her  big,  serious  eyes  that  never  wan- 
dered in  a  moment's  inattention,  found  himself 
expounding  directly  to  her — a  fact  already  dis- 
covered by  every  girl  in  the  classroom  except 
Juno  herself;  and  she  never  did  discover,  for 
no  one  was  intimate  enough  to  tell  her  seriously, 
and  there  was  that  about  her  that  forbade  the 
telling  in  badinage.  With  all  secrecy,  and 
shyly  almost,  he  set  about  to  learn  what  he 
could  about  her,  and  that  was  little  indeed. 

She  came  from  the  mountains  of  Kentucky, 
she  had  won  a  scholarship  in  the  Bluegrass 
region  of  the  same  State,  had  come  North,  and 
was  living  with  painful  economy  working  her 
way  through  college,  he  heard,  as  a  waitress  in 
the  dining-hall.  He  was  rather  shocked  to  hear 
of  one  incident.  The  girl  who  was  the  head  of 
all  athletics  in  college  had  once  addressed  rather 
sharp  words  to  Juno,  who  had  been  persuaded 
to  try  for  the  basket-ball  team.  The  mountain 
girl  did  not  respond  in  kind.  Instead,  her  big 
eyes  narrowed  to  volcanic  slits,  she  caught  the 
champion  shot-putter  by  the  shoulders,  shook 
her  until  her  hair  came  down,  and  then,  with 
fists  doubled,  had  stood  waiting  for  more 
trouble. 

When  the  term  closed  the  professor  stayed 
on  to  finish  some  experiments  he  had  on  hand, 

233 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


and  at  dinner  in  his  boarding-house  the  next 
night  he  nearly  overturned  his  soup-plate,  for 
it  was  the  goddess  who  had  placed  it  before  him. 
She  was  there  for  the  summer — not  having 
money  to  go  home — as  a  general  helper  in  the 
household  and  living  under  the  same  roof.  She 
too  was  going  on  with  her  studies,  and  he  offered 
to  help  her. 

He  found  her  a  source  of  puzzling  surprises. 
While  she  was  from  the  South,  she  was  not 
Southern  in  speech,  sentiments,  ideas,  or  ideals. 
Her  voice  was  not  Southern  and,  while  she 
elided  final  consonants,  her  intonation  was  not 
of  the  South.  Indeed  she  would  startle  him 
every  now  and  then  by  dropping  some  archaic 
word  or  old  form  of  expression  that  made  him 
think  of  Chaucer.  Her  feeling  toward  the  negro 
was  precisely  what  his  was,  and  once  when  he 
halted  in  some  stricture  on  the  Confederacy 
and  started  to  apologize  she  laughed. 

"  All  my  folks/'  she  said,  "  fit  fer  the  Union 
— as  we  say  down  there,"  she  added  with  a 
smile. 

So  that  gradually  he  began  to  realize  that 
the  Appalachian  Range,  while  being  parts  of 
the  Southern  States,  was  not  of  them  at  all, 
but  was  a  region  sui  generis,  and  that  its  in- 
habitants were  the  only  Americans  who  had 
never  swerved  in  fealty  to  the  flag. 


234 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


By  midsummer  it  was  all  over  with  him,  and 
he  shocked  his  own  reticent  soul  by  blurting 
out  one  day:  "  I  want  you  to  marry  me."  The 
words  had  been  shot  from  him  by  some  inner 
dynamic  force,  and  at  the  moment  he  would , 
have  given  anything  he  had  could  he  have 
taken  them  back.  He  waited  in  terror,  and 
very  frankly  and  proudly  she  lifted  her  heavy 
lashes,  looked  straight  into  his  eyes,  and  firmly 
said: 

"  No!" 

He  went  away  then,  but  his  relief  was  not 
what  he  thought  it  would  be.  He  could  not 
forget  that  her  mouth  quivered  slightly,  and 
that  there  seemed  to  be  a  faint  weakening  in 
the  depths  of  her  eyes  when  he  told  her  good- 
by.  He  could  climb  no  mountain  that  he  did 
not  see  her  striding  as  from  Olympus  down  it. 
He  walked  by  no  seashore  that  he  did  not  see 
her  rising  from  the  waves,  and  again  he  went 
to  her,  and  again  he  asked.  And  this  time, 
just  as  frankly  and  proudly,  she  looked  him  in 
the  eyes  and  said: 

"  Yes — on  one  condition." 

"  Name  it." 

"  That  you  don't  go  to  my  home  and  my 
people  for  five  years."    He  laughed. 

"  Why,  you  big,  beautiful,  silly  young  person, 
I  know  mountains  and  mountaineers." 


235 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


"  Yes — of  Europe — but  not  mine." 
"  Very  well,"  he  said,  and,  not  knowing 
women,  he  asked: 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  '  Yes  '  the  first  time  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know,"  she  said. 

II 

She  had  lifted  her  voice  first,  one  spring 
dawn,  in  a  log  cabin  that  clung  to  the  steep 
bank  of  Clover  Fork,  and  her  wail  rose  above 
the  rush  of  its  high  waters — above  the  song  of 
a  wood-thrush  in  the  top  of  a  poplar  high  above 
her.  Somewhere  her  mother  had  heard  the 
word  Juno,  and  the  mere  sound  of  the  word 
appealed  to  her  starved  sense  of  beauty  as  did 
one  of  the  old-fashioned  flowers  she  planted  in 
her  tiny  yard.  So  the  mother  gave  the  child 
that  name  and,  like  the  name,  the  child  grew 
up,  tall,  slow,  and  majestic  of  movement,  sin- 
gularly gentle  and  quiet,  except  when  aroused, 
and  then  her  wrath  and  her  might  were  pri- 
meval. 

St.  Hilda,  the  Mission  teacher,  was  the  first 
from  the  outside  world  to  be  drawn  to  her. 
She  had  stopped  in  at  the  cabin  on  Clover  one 
day  to  find  the  mother  of  the  family  ill  in  bed, 
and  twelve-year-old  Juno  acting  as  cook  and 
mother  for  a  brood  of  ten.  A  few  months  later 
236 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


she  persuaded  the  father  to  let  the  girl  come 
down  to  her  school,  and  in  the  succeeding  years 
she  became  St.  Hilda's  right  hand  and  the 
mainstay  in  the  supervision  of  the  kitchen, 
housework,  and  laundry,  and  even  in  the 
management  of  the  Mission's  farm.  No  one 
had  the  subtle  understanding  of  St.  Hilda's 
charges  as  had  Juno — no  one  could  handle  them 
quite  so  well.  So  that  it  was  with  real  grief 
and  great  personal  loss  that  St.  Hilda  opened 
the  way  for  Juno  to  go  to  school  in  the  Blue- 
grass.  And  now,  one  sunset  in  mid-May,  she 
was  back  at  the  Mission  in  Happy  Valley,  and 
the  two  were  in  each  other's  arms. 

Happy  Valley  it  was  no  longer,  for  through- 
out it  the  plague  had  spread  fear  or  sickness  or 
death  in  every  little  home.  St.  Hilda  had  gath- 
ered her  own  little  sufferers  in  tents  collected 
from  a  railway-camp  over  the  mountains,  a 
surveying  party,  and  from  the  Bluegrass.  A 
volunteer  doctor  had  come  from  the  "  settle- 
ments," and  two  nurses,  and  so  Juno  took  to 
the  outside  work  up  and  down  the  river,  up 
every  little  creek,  and  out  in  the  hills.  All  day 
and  far  into  the  night  she  was  gone.  Sometimes 
she  did  not  for  days  come  back  to  the  Mission. 
Her  face  grew  white  and  drawn,  and  her  cheeks 
hollow  from  poor  food,  meagre  snatches  of 
sleep,  and  untiring  work.    The  doctor  warned 

237 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


her,  St.  Hilda  warned  her,  she  got  anxious 
warning  letters  from  her  husband,  but  on  she 
went.    And  the  inevitable  happened. 

One  hot  midday,  as  she  watched  by  the  bed- 
side of  a  little  patient  with  a  branch  of  maple 
in  her  hand  to  keep  the  flies  away,  she  drowsed, 
and  one  of  the  wretched  little  insects  lighted 
on  her  moist  red  lips.  Soon  thereafter  the 
"  walking  typhoid "  caught  her  as  she  was 
striding  past  Lum  Chapman's  blacksmith-shop. 
Instinctively  she  kept  on  toward  home,  and 
reached  there  raving:  "  Don't  let  him  come — - 
don't  let  him  come  !  "  And  when  the  news  got 
about  the  heart  of  Happy  Valley  almost  bled. 

Only  St.  Hilda  guessed  what  the  mutterings 
of  the  sick  girl  meant,  but  she  did  not  heed 
them,  and  the  professor  from  New  England 
soon  crossed  Mason  and  Dixon's  line  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life.  For  the  first  time  he  fell 
under  the  spell  of  the  Southern  hills — graceful, 
gracious  big  hills,  real  mountains,  densely 
wooded  like  thickets  to  their  very  tops — so 
densely  wooded,  indeed,  that  they  seemed 
overspread  with  a  great  shaggy  green  rug  that 
swept  on  and  on  over  the  folds  of  the  hills  as 
though  billowed  up  by  a  mighty  wind  beneath. 
And  the  lights,  the  mists,  the  drifting  cloud 
shadows !  Why  had  Juno  not  wanted  him  to 
see  them  f  And  when  he  took  to  horseback 
238 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


and  mounted  through  that  billowing  rug, 
through  ferns  stirrup-high,  with  flowers  in- 
numerable nodding  on  either  side  of  the  trail 
and  the  air  of  the  first  dawn  in  his  nostrils — 
mounted  to  the  top  of  the  Big  Black,  rode  for 
miles  along  its  gently  waving  summit,  and  saw 
at  every  turn  of  the  path  the  majestic  supernal 
beauty  of  the  mighty  green  waves  that  swept 
on  and  on  before  him,  in  wonder  he  kept  asking 
himself : 

"  Why— why  ?  " 

He  had  not  come  into  contact  yet  with  the 
humanity  in  those  hills.  The  log  cabins  he 
had  seen  from  the  train — clinging  to  the  hill- 
sides, nestling  in  little  coves  amid  apple-trees, 
or  close  to  the  banks  of  rushing  little  creeks — 
had  struck  him  as  most  picturesque  and  charm- 
ing, and  an  occasional  old  mill,  with  its  big 
water-wheel,  boxed-in,  grass-hung  mill-race  half 
hidden  by  weeping  willows,  had  given  him  sheer 
delight;  but  now  he  was  meeting  the  people  in 
the  road  and  could  see  them  close  at  hand  in 
doorways  and  porches  of  the  wretched  little 
houses  that  he  passed.  How  mean,  meagre, 
narrow,  and  poverty-stricken  must  be  their 
lives ! 

At  one  cabin  he  had  to  stop  for  midday  dinner, 
for  the  word  "  lunch/'  he  found,  was  unknown. 
A  slatternly  woman  with  scraggling  black  hair, 

239 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


and  with  three  dirty  children  clinging  to  her 
dirty  apron,  "  reckoned  she  mought  git  him  a 
bite,"  and  disappeared.  Flies  swarmed  over 
him  when  he  sat  in  the  porch.  The  rancid  smell 
of  bedding  struck  his  sensitive  nostrils  from 
within.  He  heard  the  loud  squawking  of  a 
chicken  cease  suddenly,  and  his  hunger-gnawed 
stomach  almost  turned  when  he  suddenly  real- 
ized just  what  it  meant.  When  called  within, 
it  was  dirt  and  flies,  flies  and  dirt,  everywhere. 
He  sat  in  a  chair  with  a  smooth-worn  cane  bot- 
tom so  low  that  his  chin  was  just  above  the 
table.  The  table-cover  was  of  greasy  oilcloth. 
His  tumbler  was  cloudy,  unclean,  and  the  milk 
was  thin  and  sour.  Thick  slices  of  fat  bacon 
swam  in  a  dish  of  grease,  blood  was  perceptible 
in  the  joints  of  the  freshly  killed,  half-cooked 
chicken,  and  the  flies  swarmed. 

As  he  rode  away  he  began  to  get  a  glimmer 
of  light.  Perhaps  Juno — his  Juno — had  once 
lived  like  that;  perhaps  her  people  did  yet. 

There  was  another  mountain  to  climb,  and  a 
stranger  who  was  going  his  way  offered  to  act 
as  guide.  The  stranger  was  a  Kentuckian,  he 
said,  from  the  Bluegrass  region,  and  he  was 
buying  timber  through  the  hills.  He  volun- 
teered this,  but  the  New  England  man  made 
no  self-revealment.    Instead  he  burst  out: 

"  How  do  these  people  live  this  way  ?  " 
240 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


"  They  have  to — they're  pretty  poor." 

"  They  don't  have  to  keep — dirty." 

"  They've  got  used  to  it,  and  so  would  you 
if  your  folks  had  been  living  out  in  this  wilder- 
ness for  a  hundred  years." 

From  a  yard  that  they  passed,  a  boy  with  a 
vacant  face  and  retreating  forehead  dropped 
his  axe  to  stare  at  them. 

"  That's  the  second  one  I've  seen,"  said  the 
professor. 

"  Yes,  idiots  are  not  unusual  in  these  moun- 
tains— inbreeding !  " 

"  Do  they  still  have  moonshining  and  feuds 
and  all  that  yet  ?  " 

"  Plenty  of  moonshining.  The  feuds  are  all 
over  practically,  though  I  did  hear  that  the 
big  feud  over  the  mountain  was  likely  to  be 
stirred  up  again — the  old  Camp  and  Adkin 
feud."    A  question  came  faintly  from  behind: 

"  Do  you  know  any  of  the  Camps  ?  " 

"  Used  to  know  old  Red  King  Camp,  the 
leader.  He's  in  the  penitentiary  now  for  killing 
a  man.  What's  the  matter  ?  "  He  turned  in 
his  saddle,  but  the  New  Englander  had  recov- 
ered himself. 

"  Nothing — nothing.  It  seems  awful  to  a 
Northern  man." 

The  stranger  thought  he  had  heard  a  groan 
behind  him,  and  he  had — King  Camp  was  the 
241 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


name  of  the  Northern  man's  father-in-law.  Ah, 
he  was  beginning  to  understand;  but  why  did 
Juno  not  want  him  to  come  for  five  years  ? 

"  Is — is  Red  King  Camp — how  long  was  his 
sentence  ?  " 

"  Let's  see — he's  been  in  two  years,  and  I 
heard  he  had  three  years  more.  Yes,  I  remem- 
ber— he  got  five  years." 

Once  more  the  Bluegrass  man  thought  he 
heard  a  groan,  but  the  other  was  only  clearing 
his  throat.  The  New  Englander  asked  no  more 
questions,  and  about  two  hours  by  sun  they 
rode  over  a  ridge  and  down  to  the  bed  of  Clover 
Fork. 

"  Well,  stranger,  we  part  here.  You  go  up 
to  the  head  of  the  creek,  and  anybody'Il  tell 
you  where  Red  King  lives.  There's  plenty  of 
moonshining  up  that  way,  and  if  anybody  asks 
your  name  and  your  business — tell  'em  quick. 
They  won't  bother  you.  And  if  I  were  you  I 
wouldn't  criticise  these  people  to  anybody. 
They're  morbidly  sensitive,  and  you  never 
know  when  you  are  giving  mortal  offense.  And, 
by  the  way,  most  offenses  are  mortal  in  these 
hills." 

"  Thank  you.    Good-by — and  thank  you." 

Everybody  knew  where  old  King  Camp 
lived — "  Fust  house  a  leetle  way  down  t'other 
side  o'  the  mountain  from  the  head  of  Clover." 

242 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


And  nobody  asked  him  his  name  or  his  business. 
Near  dusk  he  was  at  the  head  of  Little  Clover 
and  looking  down  on  Happy  Valley.  The  rim- 
ming mountains  were  close  overhung  with 
motionless  wet  clouds.  Above  and  through 
them  lightning  flashed,  and  thunder  cracked 
and  boomed  like  encircling  artillery  around  the 
horizon.  The  wind  came  with  the  rush  of 
mighty  wings,  and  blackness  dropped  like  a 
curtain.  By  one  flash  of  lightning  he  saw  a 
great  field  of  corn,  by  another  a  big,  comfort- 
able barn,  a  garden,  a  trim  picket-fence,  a  yard 
full  of  flowers,  and  a  log  house  the  like  of  which 
he  had  not  seen  in  the  hills — and  a  new  light 
came — Juno's  work !  A  torrent  of  rain  swept 
after  him  as  he  stepped  upon  the  porch  and 
knocked  on  the  door.  A  moment  later  he  was 
looking  at  the  kindest  and  most  motherly  face 
and  into  the  kindest  eyes  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  I'm  Juno's  husband,"  he  said  simply.  For 
a  moment  she  blinked  up  at  him  bewilderedly 
through  brass-rimmed  spectacles,  and  then  she 
put  her  arms  around  him  and  bent  back  to  look 
up  at  him  again.  Then,  still  without  a  word, 
she  led  him  on  tiptoe  to  an  open  door  and 
pointed. 

"  She's  in  thar."  And  there  she  lay — his 
Juno — thin,  white,  unconscious,  her  beauty 
spiritualized,  glorified.    He  sat  simply  looking 

243 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


at  her — how  long  he  did  not  know — until  he 
felt  a  gentle  touch  on  his  shoulder.  It  was 
Juno's  mother  beckoning  him  to  supper. 

Going  out  he  saw  Juno's  hand  in  everything — 
the  hand-woven  rag  carpet,  the  curtains  at  the 
windows,  the  andirons  at  the  log  fire — for  sum- 
mer nights  in  those  hills  are  always  cool — saw 
it  in  the  kitchen,  the  table-cloth,  napkins,  even 
though  they  were  in  rings,  the  dishes,  the  food, 
the  neatness  in  everything.  He  could  see  the 
likeness  of  Juno  to  the  gentle-voiced  old  woman 
who  would  talk  of  nothing  but  her  daughter. 
In  a  moment  she  was  calling  him  "  Jim,"  and 
few  others  than  his  dead  mother  had  ever  called 
him  that.  And  when  at  bedtime  she  said, 
"  Don't  let  her  die,  Jim,"  he  leaned  down  and 
kissed  her — something  her  own  sons  when 
grown  up  had  never  done. 

"  No,  mother,"  he  said,  and  the  word  did  not 
come  hard. 

Ill 

Juno  had  been  delirious  since  the  day  she 
was  stricken.  Her  mutterings  had  been  dis- 
jointed and  unintelligible,  but  that  night,  while 
Mother  Camp  and  the  New  Englander  sat  at 
her  bedside,  she  said  again: 

"  Don't  let  him  come." 

"  She  ain't  said  that  for  three  days  now," 
244 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


said  Mother  Camp.  "  Whut  d'  you  s'pose  she 
means  ?  "   The  husband  shook  his  head. 

Next  morning  the  nurse  for  whom  St.  Hilda 
had  sent  arrived  from  the  Bluegrass,  and  the 
New  Englander  started  down  Little  Clover  to 
the  settlement  school  to  consult  the  doctor  and 
see  St.  Hilda.  It  was  a  brilliant,  drenched  June 
day,  and  never,  he  believed,  had  his  eyes  rested 
on  such  a  glory  of  green  and  gold.  Already  he 
had  been  heralded  in  the  swift  way  common  in 
the  hills,  and  all  who  saw  him  coming  knew  who 
he  was.  He  was  Juno's  man,  and  the  people 
straightway  called  him — Jim.  When  he  stood 
on  St.  Hilda's  porch  her  words  and  her  drawn, 
anxious  face  went  straight  to  his  heart.  There 
was  nobody  like  Juno,  and  without  Juno  she 
did  not  know  how  she  could  get  along.  Her 
own  little  sufferers  were  in  tents  about  her,  and 
there  was  only  one  nurse  for  them.  Juno,  said 
the  doctor,  might  be  unconscious  for  a  long 
time,  and  her  nurse  must  be  with  her  night  and 
day:  so  who  would  take  Juno's  place  through- 
out the  hills  she  did  not  know.  At  once  the 
New  Englander,  who  knew  a  good  deal  about 
medicine  and  something  of  typhoid,  found  him- 
self offering  to  do  all  he  could.  Then  and  there 
the  Mission  teacher  gave  him  a  list  of  patients, 
and  then  and  there,  with  a  thermometer  in  his 
pocket  and  a  medicine-case  in  his  hand,  he 


245 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 

started  on  his  first  round.  The  people  were 
very  shy  with  him  at  first.  In  a  few  days  he 
was  promoted  to  Doctor  Jim,  and  soon  he  was 
plain  "  Doc  "  to  all.  By  every  mouth  that 
opened  he  found  Juno's  name  blessed,  and  many 
were  the  tales  of  what  she  had  done.  She  had 
saved  wild  Jay  Dawn's  little  girl  and  Lum  Chap- 
man's first-born.  She  had  brought  old  Aunt 
Sis  Stidham  back  from  the  shadow  of  the  grave, 
and  had  turned  that  tart,  irreverent  old  per- 
son's erring  feet  back  into  the  way  of  the  Lord. 
Night  and  day,  and  through  wind  and  storm, 
she  had  travelled  the  hills,  healing  the  sick  and 
laying  out  and  helping  to  bury  the  dead.  Ap- 
parently there  was  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child 
in  Happy  Valley  who  did  not  love  her  or  have 
some  reason  to  be  grateful,  and  when  in  the 
open-air  meeting-house  Parson  Small  told  of  her 
work  and  prayed  that  her  life  be  spared,  there 
were  fervent  "  Amens,"  or  tears  and  sobs,  from 
all.  Doctor  Jim  soon  found  himself  getting 
deeply  interested  in  the  people,  and  when  he 
contrasted  the  lives  of  those  whom  the  influence 
of  the  Mission  school  had  not  yet  reached  with 
the  folks  in  Happy  Valley  he  began  to  realize 
the  amazing  good  that  St.  Hilda  was  doing  in 
the  hills.  What  a  place  he  was  earning  for  him- 
self he  was  yet  to  learn,  but  through  some  mysti- 
fication an  inkling  came.  To  be  sure,  everybody 
246 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


spoke  to  him  as  though  he  were  a  fixture  in  the 
land.  He  could  pass  no  door  that  somebody 
did  not  ask  him  to  come  in  and  rest  a  spell,  or 
stay  all  night.  He  never  went  by  the  mill  that 
Aunt  Jane  did  not  have  a  glass  of  buttermilk 
for  him  and  Uncle  Jerry  did  not  try  to  entice 
him  in  for  a  talk.  Several  times  the  little  judge 
of  Happy  Valley  had  ridden  down  to  ask  after 
Juno  and  to  talk  with  him.  Pleasant  Trouble 
waved  his  crutch  from  a  hillside  and  shouted 
himself  at  Doctor  Jim's  disposal  for  any  pur- 
pose whatever.  But  one  sunset  he  had  stopped 
at  Lum  Chapman's  blacksmith-shop  just  as  a 
big,  black-haired  fellow,  with  a  pistol  buckled 
around  him,  was  reeling  away.  The  men  greeted 
him  rather  solemnly,  and  he  felt  that  they 
wanted  to  say  something  to  him,  but  no  one 
spoke.  He  saw  Jay  Dawn  nod  curtly  to  Pleasant 
Trouble,  who  got  briskly  up  and  walked  up  the 
road  with  him  until  they  were  in  sight  of  Juno's 
home.  For  three  days  thereafter  Pleasant  was 
waiting  for  him  at  the  shop  and  walked  the 
same  space  with  him.  The  next  day  Jay  Dawn 
spoke  with  some  embarrassment  to  him: 

"  Have  you  got  a  gun  ?  " 

"  No."   Jay  handed  forth  one. 

"  Oh,  no !  "  said  Doctor  Jim. 

"  Go  on  !  "  said  Jay  shortly;  "  I  got  another 
un. 


247 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


"  But  why  do  I  need  a  gun  ?  "  Jay  was  dis- 
tinctly embarrassed. 

"  Well,"  he  drawled,  "  thar's  some  purty  bad 
fellers  'bout  hyeh,  an'  when  they  gits  drunk 
they  might  do  somethin'.  Now  that  Jerry 
Lipps  you  seed  hyeh  t'other  day  a-staggerin' 
off  drunk — he's  bad.  An'  you  do  a  heap  o' 
travellin'  alone.  This  ain't  fer  you  to  kill  no- 
body but  jus'  kind  o'  to  pertect  yerself." 

"All  right,"  laughed  Doctor  Jim.  "I 
couldn't  hit  a  barn — "  but  to  humor  Jay  he 
took  the  weapon,  and  this  time  Pleasant  Trouble 
did  not  walk  home  with  him. 

Later  he  mentioned  the  matter  to  St.  Hilda, 
who  looked  very  grave. 

"  Yes,  Jerry  Lipps  is  a  bad  man.  He's  just 
out  of  the  penitentiary.  Pleasant  walked  home 
with  you  to  protect  you  from  him.  They  won't 
let  him  do  anything  to  you  openly.  And  Jay 
gave  you  that  gun  in  case  he  should  attack  you 
when  nobody  was  around." 

"  But  what  has  the  fellow  got  against  me  ?  " 
The  teacher  hesitated. 

"  Well,  Jerry  used  to  be  in  love  with  Juno, 
but  she  would  never  have  anything  to  do  with 
him  and  he  never  would  let  her  have  anything 
to  do  with  anybody  else.  He  shot  one  boy,  and 
shot  at  another,  and  he  has  always  sworn  that 
he  would  kill  the  man  she  married." 

248 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


"  Nonsense !  "  he  said,  but  going  home  that 
night  Doctor  Jim  carried  the  gun  where  he  could 
get  at  it  quickly. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  muttered  with  grim  humor; 
"  no  wonder  Juno  didn't  want  me  to  come." 

It  was  only  a  few  days  later  that  Doctor  Jim 
came  out  of  Lum  Chapman's  house  and  paused 
in  the  path  looking  up  Wolf  Run.  Jerry  Lipps's 
sister  lived  half  a  mile  above  and  he  had  just 
heard  that  her  little  daughter  was  down  with 
the  fever.  Jerry  might  be  staying  with  the 
sister,  but  Doctor  Jim's  duty  was  now  up  there, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  warnings  given  him,  he  did 
not  hesitate.  The  woman  stared  when  he  told 
who  he  was  and  why  he  had  come,  but  she 
nodded  and  pointed  to  the  bed  where  the  child 
lay.  He  put  his  pistol  on  the  bed,  thrust  a 
thermometer  into  the  little  girl's  mouth  and 
began  taking  her  pulse.  A  hand  swept  the 
pistol  from  the  bed  and,  when  he  turned  around, 
about  all  he  could  think  was:  "  How  extraor- 
dinary !  " 

Jerry,  red  with  rage  and  drink,  was  at  the 
kitchen  door  fumbling  at  the  butt  of  his  pistol, 
while  his  sister  had  Doctor  Jim's  gun  levelled 
at  her  brother's  heart. 

"  You  can't  tech  him,"  she  said  coolly,  "  an' 
if  you  pull  that  gun  out  an  inch  furder  I'll  kill 
ye  as  shore  as  thar's  a  God  in  heaven."  And 
249 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


at  that  moment  the  door  opened  and  Pleasant 
Trouble  swung  in  on  his  crutch  and  grinned. 
Doctor  Jim  then  heard  the  tongue-lashing  of 
his  life.  The  woman's  volubility  was  like  a 
mill-race,  and  her  command  of  vitriolic  epithets 
was  beyond  his  ken.  She  recited  what  Juno 
had  done,  Doctor  Jim  was  doing,  the  things 
Jerry  had  done  and  left  undone,  and  wound  up : 
"  You  never  was  wuth  Juno's  little  finger,  an5 
you  ain't  wuth  his  little  finger-nail  now.  Take 
his  gun,  Pleas.  Take  him  to  the  State  line,  an' 
don't  you  boys  let  him  come  back  agin  until 
he's  stopped  drinkin',  got  a  suit  o'  clothes,  an' 
a  job." 

"  Why,  Mandy,"  said  Pleasant,  "  hit's  kind 
o'  funny,  but  Lum  an'  Jay  an'  me  fixed  hit  up 
about  an  hour  ago  that  we  aimed  to  do  that 
very  thing.  I  seed  Doc  a-comin'  up  hyeh,  an' 
was  afeard  I  mought  be  too  late:  but  if  I'd 
'a'  knowed  you  was  hyeh  I  wouldn't  'a'  wor- 
ried." 

Again  Doctor  Jim  was  thinking,  "  How  ex- 
traordinary !  "  But  this  time  how  extraordinary 
it  was  that  the  man  really  meant  to  shoot  him. 
Somehow  he  began  to  understand. 

Still  grinning,  Pleasant  Trouble  had  swung 
across  the  room,  whipped  Jerry's  pistol  from 
the  holster,  and  with  it  motioned  the  owner 
toward  the  door.  Then  Doctor  Jim  rose. 
250 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


"  Hold  on ! "  he  said,  and  he  took  the  pistol 
from  the  woman's  hands,  strode  straight  up  to 
Jerry  and  smiled.  Now,  from  the  top  of  Vir- 
ginia down  through  seven  Southern  States  to 
Georgia  there  are  some  three  million  moun- 
taineers, and  it  is  doubtful  if  among  them  all 
any  other  three  pairs  of  ears  ever  heard  such 
words  as  Professor  James  Blagden  of  New  Eng- 
land spoke  now: 

"  Jerry,  I  don't  blame  you  for  having  loved 
Juno,  or  for  loving  her  now.  I  wouldn't  blame 
anybody.  I  even  understand  now  why  you 
wanted  to  kill  me,  but  that  would  have  been — 
silly.  Give  him  back  his  gun,  Pleasant,"  he 
added,  still  smiling,  "  and  give  this  one  back  to 
Jay."  He  reached  in  his  pocket,  pulled  forth 
two  cigars  and  handed  one  to  each.  "  Now  you 
two  sit  down  and  smoke,  and  in  a  moment  I'll 
go  along  with  you,  and  we'll  help  Jerry  get  a 
job."  And  thereupon  Doctor  Jim  turned  around 
to  his  little  patient.  Dazed  and  a  bit  hypno- 
tized, Jerry  took  the  cigar  and  thrust  his  pistol 
into  his  holster. 

"  I'll  be  gittin'  along,"  he  said  sullenly,  and 
made  for  the  door.  Pleasant  followed  him.  At 
the  road  Jerry  turned  one  way  and  Pleasant 
the  other. 

"  You  heered  whut  Mandy  and  me  said," 
drawled  Pleasant.   "  If  you  poke  yore  nose  over 

251 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


the  line  'bout  three  of  us  will  shoot  you  on  sight. 
We'd  do  it  fer  Juno,  an'  if  she  ain't  alive  we'll 
do  it  fer  Doctor  Jim." 

"  I  was  a-goin'  over  thar  anyways,"  said 
Jerry,  "  an'  I'll  come  back  when  I  please.  You 
one-legged  limb  o'  Satan — you  go  plum'  " — 
Pleasant's  eyes  began  to  glitter — "  back  to 
him." 

Pleasant  laughed,  and  as  they  walked  their 
separate  ways  the  same  question  was  in  the 
minds  of  both : 

"  Now,  whut  the  hell  did  he  mean  by 
'  silly  '  ?  " 

IV 

Only  the  next  morning  a  happy  day  dawned. 
Old  King  Camp  came  home  with  his  sons — two 
stalwart  boys  and  a  giant  father.  Doctor  Jim 
looked  long  at  old  King's  hair,  which  was  bushy 
and  jet-black.  He  stood  it  as  long  as  he  could 
and  then  he  asked: 

"  Why  do  people  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mountain  call  you  Red  King  Camp  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  They  don't — not  more'n  once,"  was  the 
grim  answer.  "  I'm  Black  King  Camp.  Red's 
my  cousin,  but  I  don't  claim  him." 

One  load  was  off  Doctor  Jim's  heart.  His 
father-in-law  was  like  his  name  in  many  ways, 
and  Doctor  Jim  liked  him  straightway  and 
252 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


Black  King  liked  Doctor  Jim.  Old  King  shook 
his  head. 

"  I  don't  see  why  Juno  didn't  bring  you  down 
here  long  ago,"  he  said,  and  Doctor  Jim  did  not 
try  to  explain — he  couldn't.  It  must  have  been 
fear  of  Jerry — and  he  believed  that  Jerry,  too, 
was  now  out  of  the  way. 

About  noon  Juno  came  back  for  the  first  time 
from  another  world.  She  did  not  open  her  eyes, 
but  she  heard  voices  and  knew  what  they  were 
saying.  Her  mother  was  talking  in  the  next 
room  to  somebody  whom  she  called  Jim.  Who 
could  Jim  be  ?  And  then  she  heard  the  man's 
voice.  Her  eyes  opened  slowly  on  the  nurse, 
her  lips  moved,  but  before  she  could  fra/ne  the 
question  her  heart  throbbed  so  that  she  went 
back  into  unconsciousness  again.  But  the  nurse 
saw  and  told,  and  when  Juno  came  back  again 
she  saw  her  husband  and  smiled  without  sur- 
prise or  fright. 

"  I  dreamed  you  were  here,"  she  whispered, 
"  and  I'm  dreaming  right  now  that  you  are 
here.  Why,  I  see  you."  Gently  he  took  her 
face  in  his  hands,  and  when  she  felt  his  touch 
she  looked  at  him  wildly  and  the  tears  sprang. 
From  that  day  on  she  gained  fast,  and  from  the 
nurse,  her  mother,  and  the  neighbors  she  soon 
knew  the  story  of  Doctor  Jim. 

"  So  you  thought  Red  King  was  my  father," 

253 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


she  said,  "  and  that  he  was  in  the  peniten- 
tiary ?  "    Doctor  Jim  nodded  shamefacedly. 

"  Well,  even  that  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad 
— not  down  here.  And  maybe  you  thought  I 
didn't  want  you  to  come  on  account  of  Jerry 
Lipps."  Again  Doctor  Jim  nodded  admission, 
and  Juno  laughed. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,  and  if  I  had,"  she 
added  proudly  and  scornfully,  "  I  never  would 
have  been  afraid — for  you." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  want  me  to  come  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  you — didn't  know  the  big,  big 
man  you  are.   Now  I'm  ashamed — and  happy." 

One  morning,  three  weeks  later,  Jay  Dawn 
and  Lum  Chapman  brought  up  a  litter  that 
Lum  had  made,  and  they  two  and  Black  King 
and  Doctor  Jim  made  ready  to  carry  Juno  down 
the  mountain.  Jerry  Lipps  was  passing  in  the 
road  when  they  bore  her  out  the  gate,  and  he 
started  to  sidle  by  with  averted  eyes.  Doctor 
Jim  halted. 

"  Here,  Jerry  !  "  he  called.  "  You  take  my 
place."  And  Jerry,  red  as  an  oak  leaf  in  autumn, 
stepped  up  to  the  litter,  and  up  at  her  old  lover 
Juno  smiled. 

"  Doc,"  said  Jerry,  "  I  got  a  job." 

Behind,  Pleasant  Trouble  swung  along  with 
Doctor  Jim.  Mother  Camp  followed  on  horse- 
back.   People  ran  from  every  house  to  greet 

254 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


Juno,  or  from  high  on  the  hillsides  waved  their 
hands  and  shouted  "  how-dyes  "  down  to  her. 
Soon  they  were  at  the  Mission,  where  St.  Hilda 
and  Uncle  Jerry  and  Aunt  Jane  were  waiting 
on  the  porch,  and  where  pale  little  boys  and 
girls  trooped  weakly  from  the  tents  to  welcome 
her.  And  then  at  a  signal  from  Doctor  Jim 
the  four  picked  up  the  litter. 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Juno. 

"  Never  you  mind/'  said  Doctor  Jim. 

Through  the  little  vineyard  they  went,  up  a 
little  hill  underneath  cedars  and  blooming 
rhododendrons,  and  there  on  the  top  was  a 
little  cabin  built  of  logs  with  the  bark  still  on 
them,  with  a  porch  running  around  all  sides 
but  one,  and  supported  by  the  trunks  of  little 
trees.  The  smell  of  cedar  came  from  the  open 
door,  and  all  was  as  fresh  and  clean  as  the  breath 
of  the  forest  from  which  everything  came — a 
home  that  had  been  the  girl's  lifelong  dream. 
The  Goddess  of  Happy  Valley  had  her  own 
little  temple  at  last. 

On  the  open-air  sleeping-porch  they  sat  that 
night  alone. 

"  I'm  going  to  help  raise  some  money  for  that 
Mission  down  there,"  said  Doctor  Jim.  "  I 
don't  know  where  any  more  good  is  being  done, 
and  I  don't  know  any  people  who  are  more 
worth  being  helped  than — your  people." 

255 


THE  GODDESS  OF  HAPPY  VALLEY 


Happy  Valley  below  was  a-swarm  with  fire- 
flies. The  murmur  of  the  river  over  shallows 
rose  to  them.  The  cries  of  whippoorwills  en- 
circled them  from  the  hillsides  and  over  the 
mountain  majestically  rose  the  moon. 

"  And  you  and  I  are  coming  down  every 
summer — to  help." 

Juno  gathered  his  hand  in  both  her  own  and 
held  it  against  her  cheek. 

"  Jim — Doctor  Jim — my  Jim." 


256 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON 
SMALL 


PARSON  SMALL  rose.  From  the  tail- 
pocket  of  his  long  broadcloth  coat  he 
pulled  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief  and  blew 
his  nose.  He  put  the  big  blunt  forefinger  of  his 
right  hand  on  the  text  of  the  open  Bible  before 
him. 

"  Suffer — "  he  said.  He  glanced  over  his 
flock — the  blacksmith,  his  wife,  and  her  child, 
the  old  miller  and  Aunt  Betsey,  the  Mission 
teacher  and  some  of  her  brood,  past  Pleasant 
Trouble  with  his  crutch  across  his  half  a  lap, 
and  to  the  heavy-set,  middle-aged  figure  just 
slipping  to  a  seat  in  the  rear  with  a  slouched  hat 
in  his  hand.  The  parson's  glance  grew  stern 
and  he  closed  the  Great  Book.  Jeb  Mullins, 
the  newcomer,  was — moonshiner  and  undesir- 
able citizen  in  many  ways.  He  had  meant,  said 
the  parson,  to  preach  straight  from  the  word  of 
God,  but  he  would  take  up  the  matter  in  hand, 
and  he  glared  with  doubtful  benevolence  at 
Jeb's  moon  face,  grayish  whiskers,  and  mild 
blue  eyes.  Many  turned  to  follow  his  glance, 
and  Jeb  moved  in  his  seat  and  his  eyes  began  to 

257 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


roll,  for  all  knew  that  the  matter  in  hand  was 
Jeb. 

Straightway  the  parson  turned  his  batteries 
on  the  very  throne  of  King  Alcohol  and  made 
it  totter.  Men  "  disguised  by  liquer  "  were  not 
themselves.  Whiskey  made  the  fights  and  the 
feuds.  It  broke  up  meetings.  It  made  men 
lie  around  in  the  woods  and  neglect  their  fami- 
lies. It  stole  brains  and  weakened  bodies.  It 
made  women  unhappy  and  debauched  chil- 
dren. It  turned  Holy  Christmas  into  a  drunken 
orgy.  And  "  right  thar  in  their  very  midst," 
he  thundered,  was  a  satellite  of  the  Devil-King, 
"  who  was  a-doin'  all  these  very  things,"  and 
that  limb  of  Satan  must  give  up  his  still,  come 
to  the  mourners'  bench,  and  "  wrassle  with  the 
Sperit  or  else  be  druv  from  the  county  and  go 
down  to  burnin'  damnation  forevermore." 
And  that  was  not  all:  this  man,  he  had  heard, 
was  "  a-detainin'  a  female,"  an'  the  little  judge 
of  Happy  Valley  would  soon  be  hot  on  his  trail. 
The  parson  mentioned  no  name  in  the  indict- 
ment, but  the  stern  faces  of  the  women,  the 
threatening  looks  of  the  men  were  too  much  for 
Jeb.   He  rose  and  bolted,  and  the  parson  halted. 

"  The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursueth !  " 
he  cried,  and  he  raised  hands  for  the  benediction. 

"  Thar's  been  so  much  talk  about  drinkin'," 
muttered  Aunt  Sis  Stidham  as  she  swayed  out, 
258 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


'  that  hit's  made  me  plum'  thirsty.  I'd  like 
to  have  a  dram  right  now."  Pleasant  Trouble 
heard  her  and  one  eye  in  his  solemn  face  gave 
her  a  covert  wink. 

The  women  folks  had  long  clamored  that 
their  men  should  break  up  Jeb's  still;  and  the 
men  had  stood  the  nagging  and  remained  in~ 
active  through  the  hanging-together  selfishness 
of  the  sex,  for  with  Jeb  gone  where  then  would 
they  drink  their  drams  and  play  old  sledge  ? 
But  now  Jeb  was  "  a-detainin'  of  a  female," 
and  that  was  going  too  far.  For  a  full  week 
Jeb  was  seen  no  more,  for  three  reasons:  he 
was  arranging  an  important  matter  with  Pleas- 
ant Trouble;  he  was  brooding  over  the  public 
humiliation  that  the  parson  had  visited  on  him; 
and  he  knew  that  he  might  be  waited  upon  any 
day  by  a  committee  of  his  fellow  citizens  and 
customers  headed  by  a  particular  enemy  of  his. 
And  indeed  such  a  committee,  so  headed,  was 
formed,  and  as  chance  would  have  it  they  set 
forth  the  following  Sunday  morning  just  when 
Jeb  himself  set  forth  to  halt  the  parson  on  his 
way  to  church.  The  committee  caught  sight 
of  Jeb  turning  from  the  roadside  into  the  bushes 
and  the  leader  motioned  them  too  into  the 
rhododendron,  whispering : 

"  Wait  an5  we'll  ketch  him  in  some  mo'  devil- 


259 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


ment."  In  the  bushes  they  waited.  Soon  the 
parson  hove  in  view  on  a  slowly  pacing  nag, 
with  his  hands  folded  on  the  pommel  of  his 
saddle  and  deep  in  meditation.  Jeb  stepped  out 
into  the  road  and  the  hidden  men  craned  their 
necks  from  the  bushes  with  eyes  and  ears  alert. 

"  Good  mornin',  Parson  Small !  "  The  old 
nag  stopped  and  the  parson's  head  snapped  up 
from  his  re  very. 

"  Good  mornin',  Jeb  Mullins."  The  par- 
son's greeting  was  stern  and  somewhat  uneasy, 
for  he  did  not  like  the  look  on  old  Jeb's  face. 

"  Parson  Small,"  said  Jeb  unctuously,  "  las' 
Sunday  was  yo'  day."  The  men  in  the  bushes 
thrust  themselves  farther  out — they  could  hear 
every  word — "  an''  this  Sunday  is  mine." 

"  Every  Sunday  is  the  Lawd's,  Jeb  Mullins — 
profane  it  not." 

"  Well,  mebbe  He'll  loan  me  this  un,  parson. 
You  lambasted  me  afore  all  Happy  Valley  last 
Sunday  an'  now  I'm  a-goin'  to  lick  you  fer  it." 
The  parson's  eye  gleamed  faintly  and  subsided. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  to  preach  the  word  of  God, 
Jeb  Mullins." 

"  You'll  git  thar  in  time,  parson.  Git  off 
yo'  hoss  ! " 

"  I've  got  my  broadcloth  on,  Jeb  Mullins, 
an'  I  don't  want  to  muss  it  up — wait  till  I  come 
back." 

260 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


"  You  can  take  it  off,  parson,  or  brush  off  the 
dust  atterwards — climb  off  yo'  hoss."  Again 
the  parson's  eye  gleamed  and  this  time  did  not 
subside. 

"  I  reckon  you'll  give  me  time  to  say  a  prayer, 
Jeb  Mullins ! " 

"  Shore — you'll  need  it  afore  I  git  through 
with  ye." 

With  a  sigh  the  parson  swung  offside  from 
Jeb,  dexterously  pulling  a  jack-knife  from  his 
trousers-pocket,  opening  it,  and  thrusting  it  in 
the  high  top  of  his  right  boot.  Then  he  kneeled 
in  the  road  with  uplifted  face  and  eyes  closed: 

"  O  Lawd,"  he  called  sonorously,  "  thou 
knowest  that  I  visit  my  fellow  man  with  violence 
only  with  thy  favor  and  in  thy  name.  Thou 
knowest  that  when  I  laid  Jim  Thompson  an' 
Si  Marcum  in  thar  graves  it  was  by  thy  aid. 
Thou  knowest  how  I  disembowelled  with  my 
trusty  knife  the  miserable  sinner  Hank  Smith." 
Here  the  parson  drew  out  his  knife  and  began 
honing  it  on  the  leg  of  his  boot.  "  An'  hyeh's 
another  who  meddles  with  thy  servant  and  pro- 
fanes thy  day.  I  know  this  hyeh  Jeb  Mullins 
is  offensive  in  thy  sight  an'  fergive  me,  O  Lawd, 
but  I'm  a-goin'  to  cut  his  gizzard  plum'  out, 
an'  O  Lawd — "  Here  Parson  Small  opened  one 
eye  and  Jeb  Mullins  did  not  stand  on  the  order 
of  his  going.  As  he  went  swiftly  up  the  hill  the 
261 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


committee  sprang  from  the  bushes  with  haw- 
haws  and  taunting  yells.  At  the  top  of  the  hill 
Jeb  turned : 

"  I  was  a-goin'  anyhow/'  he  shouted,  and 
with  his  thumb  at  his  nose  he  wriggled  his  fin- 
gers at  them. 

"  He'll  never  come  back  now — he'll  be 
ashamed." 

"  Friends,"  called  the  parson,  "  the  Lawd  is 
with  me — peace  be  unto  you."  And  the  com- 
mittee said : 

"  Amen ! " 

The  Japanese  say:  Be  not  surprised  if  the 
surprising  does  not  surprise.  When  Jeb  walked 
into  meeting  the  following  Sunday  no  citizen 
of  Happy  Valley  had  the  subtlety  to  note  that 
of  them  all  Pleasant  Trouble  alone,  sitting  far 
in  the  rear,  showed  no  surprise.  Pleasant's  face 
was  solemn,  but  in  his  eyes  was  an  expectant' 
smile.  Women  and  men  glared,  and  the  parson 
stopped  his  exhortation  to  glare,  but  Jeb  had 
timed  his  entrance  with  the  parson's  call  for 
sinners  to  come  to  the  mourners'  bench.  It 
was  the  only  safe  place  for  him  and  there  he 
went  and  there  he  sat.  The  parson  still  glared, 
but  he  had  to  go  on  exhorting — he  had  to  ex- 
hort even  Jeb.  And  Jeb  responded.  He  not 
only  "  wrassled  with  the  Sperit  "  valiantly  but 
262 


O  Lawd  .  .  .  hyeh's  another  who  meddles  with  thy  servant 
and  profanes  thy  day." 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


he  "  came  through  " — that  is,  he  burst  from 
the  gloom  of  evil  and  disbelief  into  the  light  of 
high  purpose  and  the  glory  of  salvation.  He 
rose  to  confess  and  he  confessed  a  great  deal; 
but,  as  many  knew,  not  all — who  does  ?  He 
had  driven  the  woman  like  Hagar  into  the 
wilderness ;  he  would  go  out  right  now  and  the 
folks  of  Happy  Valley  should  see  him  break  up 
his  own  still  with  his  own  hands. 

"  Praise  the  Lawd,"  said  the  amazed  and 
convinced  parson;  "lead  the  way,  Brother 
Mullins."  Brother  Mullins !  The  smile  in 
Pleasant's  eyes  almost  leaped  in  a  laugh  from 
his  open  mouth.  The  congregation  rose  and, 
led  by  Jeb  and  the  parson,  started  down  the 
road  and  up  a  ravine.  The  parson  raised  a 
hymn — "  Climbing  up  Zion's  hill."  At  his 
shack  Jeb  caught  up  an  axe  which  he  had  left 
on  purpose  apparently  at  his  gate,  and  on  they 
went  to  see  Jeb  bruise  the  head  of  the  serpent 
and  prove  his  right  to  enter  the  fold.  With  a 
shout  of  glory  Jeb  plunged  ahead  on  a  run,  dis- 
appeared down  a  thicketed  bank,  and,  as  they 
pushed  their  way,  singing,  through  the  bushes, 
they  could  hear  him  below  crashing  right  and 
left  with  his  axe,  and  when  they  got  to  him  it 
was  nearly  all  over.  Many  wondered  how  he 
could  create  such  havoc  in  so  short  a  time,  but 
the  boiler  was  gashed  with  holes,  the  worms 
263 


THE  BATTLE-PRAYER  OF  PARSON  SMALL 


chopped  into  bits,  and  the  mash-tub  was  in 
splinters. 

Happy  Valley  dispersed  to  dinner.  Lum 
Chapman  took  the  parson  and  his  new-born 
father-in-law  home  with  him,  his  wife  following 
with  her  apron  at  her  eyes,  wiping  away  grate- 
ful tears.  At  sunset  Pleasant  Trouble  swung 
lightly  up  Wolf  Run  on  his  crutch  and  called 
Jeb  down  to  the  gate: 

"  You  got  a  good  home  now,  Jeb." 

"  I  shore  have."  Jeb's  religious  ecstasy  had 
died  down  but  he  looked  content. 

The  parson  was  mounting  his  nag  and  Pleas- 
ant opened  the  gate  for  him. 

"  Hit's  sort  o'  curious,  parson,"  said  Jeb, 
"  but  when  you  prayed  that  prayer  jes'  afore 
I  was  about  to  battle  with  ye  I  begun  to  see 
the  errer  o'  my  ways." 

"  The  Lawd,  Brother  Mullins,"  said  the  par- 
son, dryly  but  sincerely,  "  moves  in  mysterious 
ways  his  wonders  to  perform."  The  two 
watched  him  ride  away. 

"  The  new  still  will  be  hyeh  next  week,"  said 
Pleasant  out  of  one  corner  of  his  mouth.  One 
solemn  wink  they  exchanged  and  Pleasant 
Trouble  swung  lightly  off  into  the  woods. 


264 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


THE  sun  of  Christmas  poured  golden  bless- 
ings on  Happy  Valley  first;  it  leaped 
ten  miles  of  intervening  hills  and  shot  winged 
shafts  of  yellow  light  into  the  mouth  of  Pigeon; 
it  darted  awakening  arrows  into  the  coves  and 
hollows  on  the  Head  of  Pigeon,  between  Brushy 
Ridge  and  Pine  Mountain;  and  one  searching 
ray  flashed  through  the  open  door  of  the  little 
log  schoolhouse  at  the  forks  of  Pigeon  and 
played  like  a  smile  over  the  waiting  cedar  that 
stood  within — alone. 

Down  at  the  mines  below,  the  young  doctor 
had  not  waited  the  coming  of  that  sun.  He 
had  sprung  from  his  bed  at  dawn,  had  built  his 
own  fire,  dressed  hurriedly,  and  gone  hurriedly 
on  his  rounds,  leaving  a  pill  here,  a  powder 
there,  and  a  word  of  good  cheer  everywhere. 
That  was  his  Christmas  tree,  the  cedar  in  the 
little  schoolhouse — his  and  Hers.  The  Mar- 
quise of  Queensberry,  he  called  her — and  she 
was  coming  up  from  the  Gap  that  day  to  dress 
that  tree  and  spread  the  joy  of  Christmas 
among  mountain  folks,  to  whom  the  joy  of 
Christmas  was  quite  unknown. 

265 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


An  hour  later  the  passing  mail-carrier,  from 
over  Black  Mountain,  stopped  with  switch  up- 
lifted at  his  office  door. 

"  Them  fellers  over  the  Ridge  air  comin'  over 
to  shoot  up  yo'  Christmas  tree,"  he  drawled. 

The  switch  fell  and  he  was  gone.  The  young 
doctor  dropped  by  his  fire — stunned;  for  just 
that  thing  had  happened  ten  years  before  to 
the  only  Christmas  tree  that  had  ever  been 
heard  of  in  those  immediate  hills,  except  his 
own.  Out  of  that  very  schoolhouse  some  van- 
dals from  over  Pine  Mountain  had  driven  the 
Pigeon  Creek  people  after  a  short  fight,  and 
while  the  surprised  men,  frightened  women  and 
children,  and  the  terrified  teacher  scurried  to 
safety  behind  rocks  and  trees  had  shot  the  tree 
to  pieces.  That  was  ten  years  before,  but  even 
now,  though  there  were  some  old  men  and  a 
few  old  women  who  knew  the  Bible  from  end 
to  end,  many  grown  people  and  most  of  the 
children  had  never  heard  of  the  Book,  or  of 
Christ,  or  knew  that  there  was  a  day  known  as 
Christmas  Day.  That  such  things  were  so  had 
hurt  the  doctor  to  the  heart,  and  that  was  why, 
as  Christmas  drew  near,  he  had  gone  through 
the  out-of-the-way  hollows  at  the  Head  of 
Pigeon  and  got  the  names  and  ages  of  all  the 
mountain  children;  why  now,  long  after  that 
silly  quarrel  with  the  marquise,  he  had  humbled 
266 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


his  pride  and  written  her  please  to  come  and 
help  him;  why  she  had  left  the  Christmas  of 
Happy  Valley  in  St.  Hilda's  hands  and  was 
coming;  and  why  now  the  cedar  tree  stood  in 
the  little  log  schoolhouse  at  the  forks  of  Pigeon. 
Moreover,  there  was  yet  enmity  between  the 
mountaineers  of  Pigeon  and  the  mountaineers 
over  Pine  Mountain,  who  were  jealous  and 
scornful  of  any  signs  of  the  foreign  influence  but 
recently  come  into  the  hills.  The  meeting- 
house, court-house,  and  the  schoolhouse  were 
yet  favorite  places  for  fights  among  the  moun- 
taineers. There  was  yet  no  reverence  at  all  for 
Christmas,  and  the  same  vandals  might  yet  re- 
gard a  Christmas  tree  as  an  impoited  frivolity 
to  be  sternly  rebuked.  The  news  was  not  only 
not  incredible,  it  probably  was  true;  and  with 
this  conclusion  some  very  unpleasant  lines  came 
into  the  young  doctor's  kindly  face,  and  he 
sprang  for  his  horse. 

Two  hours  later  he  had  a  burly  mountaineer 
with  a  Winchester  posted  on  the  road  leading 
over  Pine  Mountain,  another  on  the  mountain- 
side overlooking  the  little  valley,  several  more 
similarly  armed  below,  while  he  and  two  friends, 
with  revolvers  buckled  on,  waited  for  the  mar- 
quise, with  their  horses  hitched  in  front  of  his 
office-door.    This  Christmas  tree  was  to  be. 

Meanwhile  his  mind  was  busy  with  memories 
267 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

of  the  previous  summer.  Once  again  he  was 
bounding  across  a  brook  in  a  little  ravine  in 
Happy  Valley  to  see  two  young  mountaineers 
in  a  fierce  fight — with  his  sweetheart  and  a  one- 
legged  man  named  Pleasant  Trouble  as  referees, 
and  once  again  that  distracted  sweetheart  was 
rushing  for  refuge  to  his  arms.  She  had  got 
the  two  youths  to  fight  with  fists  instead  of 
pistols,  and  according  to  such  rules  of  the  ring 
as  she  could  remember,  and  that  was  why  there- 
after he  had  called  her  the  marquise.  Then 
had  come  that  silly  quarrel  and,  instead  of  to 
the  altar,  she  had  gone  back  to  Happy  Valley 
to  teach  again.  Now  he  would  see  her  once 
more  and  his  hopes  were  high.  Outside  he 
heard  the  creaking  of  wheels.  A  big  spring 
wagon  loaded  with  Christmas  things  drew  up 
in  front  of  his  door  and  amidst  them  sat  the 
superintendent's  daughter  and  two  girl  friends, 
who  shouted  cheery  greetings  to  him.  He  raised 
his  eyes  and  high  above  saw  the  muffled  figure 
of  the  marquise  coming  through  the  snowy 
bushes  down  the  trail.  Behind  her  rode  a 
man  with  a  crutch  across  his  saddle-bows — 
Pleasant  Trouble,  self-made  bodyguard  to  the 
little  teacher:  nowhere  could  she  go  without 
him  at  her  heels.  Pleasant  grinned,  and  the 
faces  of  the  lovers,  suddenly  suffused,  made 
their  story  quite  plain.  The  doctor  lifted  her 
268 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


from  her  horse  and  helped  her  into  the  wagon, 
to  meet  three  pairs  of  mischievous  eyes,  so  that 
quite  gruffly  for  him,  he  said: 

"  On  your  way  now — and  hustle ! 99 
A  black-snake  whip  cracked  and  up  Pigeon 
the  wagon  bumped,  with  the  doctor,  his  two 
friends,  and  Pleasant  Trouble  on  horseback 
alongside;  past  the  long  batteries  of  coke-ovens 
with  grinning  darkies,  coke-pullers,  and  loaders 
idling  about  them;  up  the  rough  road  through 
lanes  of  snow-covered  rhododendrons  winding 
among  tall  oaks,  chestnuts,  and  hemlocks; 
through  circles  and  arrows  of  gold  with  which 
the  sun  splashed  the  white  earth — every  cabin 
that  they  passed  tenantless,  for  the  inmates 
had  gone  ahead  long  ago — and  on  to  the  little 
schoolhouse  that  sat  on  a  tiny  plateau  in  a  small 
clearing,  with  snow-tufted  bushes  of  laurel  on 
every  side  and  snowy  mountains  rising  on  either 
hand. 

The  door  was  wide  open  and  smoke  was  curl- 
ing from  the  chimney.  A  few  horses  and  mules 
were  hitched  to  the  bushes  near  by.  Men, 
boys,  and  dogs  were  gathered  around  a  big  fire 
in  front  of  the  building;  and  in  a  minute  women, 
children,  and  more  dogs  poured  out  of  the 
schoolhouse  to  watch  the  coming  cavalcade. 
Since  sunrise  the  motley  group  had  been  wait- 
ing there,  and  the  tender  heart  of  the  little  mar- 
269 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


quise  began  to  ache:  the  women  thinly  clad  in 
dresses  of  worsted  or  dark  calico,  and  a  shawl 
or  short  jacket  or  man's  coat,  with  a  sunbonnet 
or  "  fascinator "  on  their  heads,  and  men's 
shoes  on  their  feet — the  older  ones  stooped  and 
thin,  the  younger  ones  carrying  babies,  and  all 
with  weather-beaten  faces  and  bared  hands; 
the  men  and  boys  without  overcoats,  their  coarse 
shirts  unbuttoned,  their  necks  and  upper  chests 
bared  to  the  biting  cold,  their  hands  thrust  in 
their  pockets  as  they  stood  about  the  fire,  and 
below  their  short  coat-sleeves  their  wrists  show- 
ing chapped  and  red;  while  to  the  little  boys 
and  girls  had  fallen  only  such  odds  and  ends  of 
clothing  as  the  older  ones  could  spare.  Quickly 
the  doctor  got  his  party  indoors  and  to  work  on 
the  Christmas  tree.  Not  one  did  he  tell  of  the 
impending  danger,  and  the  Colt's  .45  bulging 
under  this  man's  shoulder  or  on  that  man's  hip, 
and  the  Winchester  in  the  hollow  of  an  arm  here 
and  there  were  sights  too  common  in  those  hills 
to  arouse  suspicion  in  anybody's  mind.  The 
cedar-tree,  shorn  of  its  branches  at  the  base 
and  banked  with  mosses,  towered  to  the  angle 
of  the  roof.  There  were  no  desks  in  the  room 
except  the  one  table  once  used  by  the  teacher. 
Long,  crude  wooden  benches  with  low  backs 
faced  the  tree,  with  an  aisle  leading  from  the 
door  between  them.   Lap-robes  were  hung  over 


270 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 

the  windows,  and  soon  a  gorgeous  figure  of 
Santa  Claus  was  smiling  down  from  the  very 
tiptop  of  the  tree.  With  her  flushed  face,  eager 
eyes,  and  golden  hair  the  busy  marquise  looked 
like  its  patron  saint.  Ropes  of  gold  and  silver 
tinsel  were  swiftly  draped  around  and  up  and 
down;  enmeshed  in  these  were  little  red  Santas, 
gayly  colored  paper  horns  filled  with  candy, 
colored  balls,  white  and  yellow  birds,  little 
colored  candles  with  holders  to  match,  and 
other  glittering  things;  while  over  the  whole 
tree  a  glistening  powder  was  sprinkled  like  a 
mist  of  shining  snow.  Many  presents  were 
tied  to  the  tree,  and  under  it  were  the  rest  of 
the  labelled  ones  in  a  big  pile.  In  a  semicircle 
about  the  base  sat  the  dolls  in  pink,  yellow,  and 
blue,  and  looking  down  the  aisle  to  the  door. 
Packages  of  candy  in  colored  Japanese  napkins 
and  tied  with  a  narrow  red  ribbon  were  in  an- 
other pile,  with  a  pyramid  of  oranges  at  its 
foot.  And  yet  there  was  still  another  pile  for 
unexpected  children,  that  the  heart  of  none 
should  be  sore.  Then  the  candles  were  lighted 
and  the  door  flung  open  to  the  eager  waiting 
crowd  outside.  In  a  moment  every  seat  was 
silently  filled  by  the  women  and  children,  and 
the  men,  stolid  but  expectant,  lined  the  wall. 
The  like  of  that  tree  no  soul  of  them  had  ever 
seen  before.  Only  a  few  of  the  older  ones  had 
271 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


ever  seen  a  Christmas  tree  of  any  kind,  and 
they  but  one;  and  they  had  lost  that  in  a  free- 
for-all  fight.  And  yet  only  the  eyes  of  them 
showed  surprise  or  pleasure.  There  was  no 
word — no  smile,  only  unwavering  eyes  mes- 
merically  fixed  on  that  wonderful  tree. 

The  young  doctor  rose,  and  only  the  mar- 
quise saw  and  wondered  that  he  was  nervous, 
restless,  and  pale.  As  best  he  could  he  told 
them  what  Christmas  was  and  what  it  meant 
to  the  world ;  and  he  had  scarcely  finished  when 
a  hand  beckoned  to  him  from  the  door.  Leaving 
one  of  his  friends  to  distribute  the  presents,  he 
went  outside  to  discover  that  one  vandal 
had  come  on  ahead,  drunk  and  boisterous. 
Promptly  the  doctor  tied  him  to  a  tree  and, 
leaving  Pleasant  Trouble  to  guard  him,  shoul- 
dered a  Winchester  and  himself  took  up  a  lonely 
vigil  on  the  mountainside.  Within,  Christmas 
went  on.  When  a  name  was  called  a  child 
came  forward  silently,  usually  shoved  to  the 
front  by  some  relative,  took  what  was  handed 
to  it,  and,  dumb  with  delight,  but  too  shy  even 
to  murmur  a  word  of  thanks,  silently  returned 
to  its  seat  with  the  presents  hugged  to  its  breast 
— presents  that  were  simple,  but  not  to  those 
mountain  mites:  colored  pictures  and  illus- 
trated books  they  were,  red  plush  albums,  simple 
games,  fascinators,  and  mittens  for  the  girls; 
272 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


pocket-knives,  balls,  firecrackers,  horns,  mittens, 
caps,  and  mufflers  for  the  boys;  a  doll  dressed 
in  everything  a  doll  should  wear  for  each  little 
girl,  no  one  of  whom  had  ever  seen  a  doll  before, 
except  what  was  home-made  from  an  old  dress 
or  apron  tied  in  several  knots  to  make  the  head 
and  body.  Twice  only  was  the  silence  broken. 
One  boy  quite  forgot  himself  when  given  a 
pocket-knife.  He  looked  at  it  suspiciously  and 
incredulously,  turned  it  over  in  his  hand,  opened 
it  and  felt  the  edge  of  the  blade,  and,  panting 
with  excitement,  cried: 

"  Hit's  a  shore  'nough  knife !  " 

And  again  when,  to  make  sure  that  nobody 
had  been  left  out,  though  all  the  presents  were 
gone,  the  master  of  ceremonies  asked  if  there 
was  any  other  little  boy  or  girl  who  had  re- 
ceived nothing,  there  arose  a  bent,  toothless 
old  woman  in  a  calico  dress  and  baggy  black 
coat,  her  gray  hair  straggling  from  under  her 
black  sunbonnet  and  her  hands  gnarled  and 
knotted  from  work  and  rheumatism.  Simply 
as  a  child  she  spoke: 

"  I  ain't  got  nothin'." 

Gravely  the  giver  of  the  gifts  asked  her  to 
come  forward,  and  while,  nonplussed,  he 
searched  the  tree  for  the  most  glittering  thing 
he  could  find,  a  tiny  gold  safety-pin  was  thrust 
into  his  hand,  the  whiter  hollow  of  the  mar- 

273 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


quise's  white  throat  became  visible,  and  that 
old  woman  was  made  till  death  the  proudest 
in  the  hills.  Then  all  the  women  pressed  for- 
ward and  then  the  men,  until  all  the  ornaments 
were  gone,  even  the  half-burned  candles  with 
their  colored  holders,  which  the  men  took 
eagerly  and  fastened  in  their  coats,  clasping 
the  holders  to  their  lapels  or  fastening  the  bent 
wire  in  their  buttonholes,  and  pieces  of  tinsel 
rope,  which  they  threw  over  their  shoulders — 
so  that  the  tree  stood  at  last  just  as  it  was  when 
brought  from  the  wild  woods  outside. 

Straightway  then  the  young  doctor  hurried 
the  departure  of  the  merrymakers.  Already 
the  horses  stood  hitched,  and,  while  the  lap- 
robes  were  being  carried  out,  a  mountaineer 
who  had  brought  along  a  sack  of  apples  lined 
up  the  men  and  boys,  and  at  a  given  word 
started  running  down  the  road,  pouring  out  the 
apples  as  he  ran  while  the  men  and  boys  scram- 
bled for  them,  rolling  and  tussling  in  the  snow. 

Just  then  a  fusillade  of  shots  rang  from  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  but  nobody  paid  any 
heed.  As  the  party  moved  away,  the  moun- 
taineers waved  their  hands  and  shouted  good- 
by  to  the  doctor,  too  shy  still  to  pay  much  heed 
to  the  other  "  furriners  "  in  the  wagon.  The 
doctor  looked  back  once  with  a  grateful  sigh 
of  relief,  but  no  one  in  the  wagon  knew  that 
274 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


there  had  been  any  danger  that  day.  How 
great  the  danger  had  been  not  even  the  doctor 
knew  till  Pleasant  Trouble  galloped  up  and 
whispered  behind  his  hand :  the  coming  vandals 
had  got  as  far  as  the  top  of  the  dividing  ridge, 
had  there  quarrelled  and  fought  among  them- 
selves, so  that,  as  the  party  drove  away,  one 
invader  was  at  the  minute  cursing  his  captors, 
who  were  setting  him  free,  and  high  upon  the 
ridge  another  lay  dead  in  the  snow. 

That  night  the  doctor  and  the  marquise,  well 
muffled  against  the  cold,  sat  on  the  porch  of 
the  superintendent's  bungalow  while  the  daugh- 
ter sat  discreetly  inside.  The  flame-light  of  the 
ovens  licked  the  snowy  ravine  above  and  below; 
it  was  their  first  chance  for  a  talk,  and  they 
had  it  out  to  the  happy  end. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  doctor,  "  there  is  even 
more  to  do  over  here  than  in  Happy  Valley." 

"  There  is  much  to  do  everywhere  in  these 
hills,"  said  the  marquise. 

"  And  /  need  you — oh,  how  I  do  need  you  !  " 
Most  untimely,  the  daughter  appeared  at  the 
door. 

"  Then  you  shall  have  me,"  whispered  the 
marquise. 

"  Bedtime !  "  called  the  girl,  and  only  with 
his  eyes — just  then — could  the  doctor  kiss  the 
little  marquise.    But  the  next  morning,  when 

275 


THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE  ON  PIGEON 


he  went  with  her  as  far  as  the  top  of  the  moun- 
tain and  Pleasant  Trouble  rode  whistling  ahead, 
he  had  better  luck. 
"  When  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  till  June,"  she  said  firmly.   And  again 
he  asked: 
"  When  ?  " 

"  Oh,  about  two  o'clock,"  smiled  the  mar- 
quise. 

"  The  first  two  o'clock  ? 99 
"  Too  early  !  " 

"  The  second,"  he  said  decidedly.  For  an- 
swer the  marquise  leaned  from  her  saddle  toward 
him  and  he  kissed  her  again. 

Later,  by  just  five  months  and  one  week,  the 
doctor  mounted  his  horse  for  Happy  Valley. 
He  had  to  go  up  Pigeon,  and  riding  by  the  little 
schoolhouse,  he  stopped  at  the  door  and  from 
his  horse  pushed  it  open.  The  Christmas  tree 
stood  just  as  he  had  left  it  on  Christmas  Day, 
only,  like  the  evergreens  on  the  wall  and  over 
the  windows,  it  too  was  brown,  withered,  and 
dry.  Gently  he  closed  the  door  and  rode  on. 
And  on  the  clock-stroke  of  two  in  Happy  Valley 
there  was  a  wedding  that  blessed  first  June 
afternoon. 


276 


NELBCO  BINDINGS 


